


Fireball, Bojangles, and Hot Derby Nights

by junkyardjeditrash



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern, Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, An unprecedented number of necrophilia and necromancy jokes, Background GingerRose, Banging into love, Because feelings are hard, Ben is GROMPY, Ben is her Bojangles Daddy, Bojangles is Life, Bojangles should make me their marketing VP, Booty Shorts are Pants, Chonky Beebee has rights, Consensual spanking, F/M, Feral Skate Gremlin Rey, Fireball Shots, Fluff, Greasy food is love, Humor, Karaoke with a stripper pole, Killer Robots, Manmosas are better than mimosas, Only a tiny bit of angst, Oral Sex, Outstanding derby bruises, Porn that eventually found a plot, Rey is a Sass Machine, Smut, Smut in every chapter you filthy animals, Sometimes Pants Become Shorts, They really aren't good at talking about feelings, Twerking Rodeos, Vaginal Sex, Wholesome spanking, bisexual rey, fingerbanging, lawyer ben, safe sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:40:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junkyardjeditrash/pseuds/junkyardjeditrash
Summary: Lawyer Ben hates his job and is bored with his life until he meets a wild child roller derby queen with a passion for chicken biscuits and killer robots.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 308
Kudos: 154





	1. Twerk Rodeo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Notquitegreylo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notquitegreylo/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben hates his job, so he decides to go out for a drink. He ends up in the middle of a roller derby after party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://ibb.co/TbHdbxm)   
> 

Ben storms out of his office well past 10 p.m. on Saturday night, muttering under his breath that he is going to quit, that he is going to burn the building down, that perhaps he is going to burn the entire city of Coruscant to the ground, leaving everything in his path in smoke and ruin. _Fuck_ , that would be satisfying. Snoke’s absolute refusal to allow negotiations with the opposing party is insanity and hubris, a power play that absolutely does not need to happen. It’s not like the firm could lose the case.

In fact… In fact, Ben Solo needs a fucking drink.

He stops just beyond the lobby of the high-rise, hands shoved in his jacket pockets and he glares back at his building, feeling a pulse of loathing for Snoke. And for himself, too, if he’s in the mood for honesty. It didn’t have to be like this.

At any rate, he takes a deep breath, exhaling heavily as he considers his options. He’d originally been headed towards the parking deck where his BMW sat, but if he walks the other way, there are plenty of restaurants and bars.

That’s a better idea, he quickly decides. A little oblivion in the form of scotch on the rocks would be just the thing. He can always take an Uber home. A tumbler of scotch in a quiet bar where he can disappear from reality would be just the thing to make him forget the smug, pompous face of his law firm’s senior partner, and absolutely just the thing to forget how bullheaded he’d been when he’d ignored his mother’s advice and moved to this city to join Snoke’s firm.

Five blocks later, Ben sees a flickering sign for the Resistance Bar, and some people milling about outside, beer bottles in hand, and he decides it’s as likely a spot as any to get a drink. He’s tired of walking already, and the sooner he’s drunk, the sooner he can go the fuck home.

The Resistance Bar is not what he had in mind. The moment Ben steps inside past the ID-check guy, he’s assaults by noise. The place is a chaotic jumble of bodies wriggling past each other to get to the bar, dancing anywhere there’s floor space, making out on the couches, and on a dais at the end of the room, two young women are moving chairs to make room for… something.

This place is filthy.

This place is crowded.

This place is loud.

Ben hates everything about it, but when he sees the veritable bounty of whiskey options behind the bar, he figures this place will do. He’s here now, and he surrenders to fate.

Ben gets shoved almost immediately.

“Oi! Move it, you fucking fridge. People are trying to walk through,” shouts a bossy British accent, and Ben finds himself suddenly transfixed on a slender brunette with an attitude that far outstrips her size or the size of the tiny denim shorts hugging her ass.

A rather nice ass.

He mutters an apology and wades against the tide of bodies to the bar, using his size to his advantage to push through. People always seem to give him the right of way, either because his scowl suggests he might eat someone’s heart for dinner, or because his sheer size means they should move or be crushed. He doesn’t mind what they think, as long as they get out of his way.

Ben Solo, is indeed, the size of a refrigerator. He towers over nearly everyone, has since middle school, with broad shoulders that suggest he spends a lot of time in the gym. Which, when he’s not drinking to forget, he’s punishing his body. .

“Scotch on the rocks,” he shouts over the din, to the young dark-skinned guy behind the counter.

He gets a quick chin lift in acknowledgement, and soon enough, Ben has a glass in his hand. He’s impressed despite himself. There is an improbably crush of humanity around the bar, and the bartender sails from one end of the bar to the other pouring drinks, distributing beers, and taking cash and cards like a damned magician.

After a few sips, the burn of the scotch smooths out, and Ben finds a bit of wall to hold up. He realizes as he drinks, that he’s woefully, terribly, fantastically out of place.

Everyone in here is young. Well, mostly. And certainly younger at heart. And he’s definitely the only person in a suit, let alone business casual or any kind of clothing that might have been in an office cubicle today. Everyone else is in jeans. Or shorts. Or no pants at all? At least half the women in the bar are wearing spandex booty shorts or denim shorts so small they hardly qualify as shorts. And is that guy wearing a Cookie Monster onesie? Oh yeah. Okay.

Dozens of glitter-streaked, sweaty women pack into the bar, around the dais, streaming in and out of the main bar area to an adjoining room, wearing athletic jerseys with numbers on the back. Chainsaw? That’s… that’s not a real name. Not even in Coruscant, where everyone has three names and at least one is either a mashup or something you’d call a pitbull. Marylee and Butch or Jesslyn and Duke.

Ben decides he’s either had too much to drink already, or not enough as he watches the surge of bodies writhing sweatily and rubbing against each other to Gaga or Journey or Missy Elliott and Ginuwine or Die Antwoord. It’s a bizarre playlist, anyway. Either way, he’s not prepared when a woman with short blonde hair, her figure Amazonian in dimension, takes the microphone.

“Quick announcement! The twerk rodeo begins in 5 minutes! Bring your asses up here if you want to twerk or ride!”

At least half the bar cheers, and the brunette who’d shoved him earlier throws her hands in the air and runs toward the stage, screaming enthusiastically, _Price is Right_ -style.

_The fuck?_

This calls for a refill, he decides quickly, and he bumps through bodies on his way back to the bar. Oblivion isn’t here yet, and whatever party is happening right now is starting to feel like a fever dream.

The second scotch goes down easier, and as Ben watches a motley group of women crowd the stage, he entirely forgets why he came to this bar in the first place. It might not be what he’d anticipated, this alternate reality is proving at least mildly interesting. Okay, more than. And he’s not sure he’s ever seen an assortment of women like this packed into a bar.

He’s not ogling, per se, more… _fascinated_ by the grouping. All sizes. Tall, short, narrow, wide. Some are tiny, and others look like they could hurl a discus further than an East German woman on steroids at the 1980 Olympics.

The tall blonde hands off the mic to a dark-haired man with eyes that can only be described as soulful, even as they flash with humor, and he waves two more women onstage. One is a tallish, dark-skinned woman who looks powerful but has masses of dark curly hair and a charming gap-toothed smile. The other is the bossy, slim brunette who is already pointing and shouting something at her friends. From his vantage point, lurking by the bar, Ben sees her long, muscular legs, and he is… damn his mouth is dry. He takes another gulp of scotch.

“And so the first rodeo of the season begins!” shouts the man with the microphone.

The crowd whoops excitedly as the blonde amazon and the dark curly-haired woman bend over with their asses pointed at the crowd. Both are wearing black spandex booty shorts, and they wriggle their voluptuous rumps suggestively while the spectators howl and cheer.

With big grins, they move into position, ass to ass, hands braced above their knees, and the brunette from before takes a hand up from the announcer, carefully sitting where the other two women’s rumps meet.

“Who’s got the stopwatch?” he asks, and a tiny black-haired woman holds up her phone, showing it’s ready.

“Alright then! Daisy here has never won a rodeo! Is this her season?” he jeers, and the brunette, Daisy, apparently, flips him off with a smirk and a bright smile that illuminates everyone and everything lucky enough to observe it, including the miserable heart of one Ben Solo.

This sudden flash of light in darkness is beautifully painful, and Ben takes a fortifying sip of scotch.

Ben thinks he’s beginning to understand what’s about to happen when the announcer, starts the count. “On your marks. Get set. TWERK!”

At that last word, the two women beneath Daisy begin shaking and undulating their hips, and Ben chokes on his drink, spluttering.

He hadn’t been prepared. What the fuck.

Daisy was, more so than he, and after almost getting immediately bucked off their hips, she regains her balance, laughing as she throws her arms over her head, riding them like bucking broncos.

They continue shaking and twerking, and after a few seconds, a particularly violent twerk sends Daisy flying off their backsides with a shriek, and a heavy thump as she hits the stage. She gets up, grimacing as she rubs her butt, then laughs again.

“10 seconds!” cries the timer from the audience, and Daisy shakes her fists in mock rage at the gods before hopping off the stage with feline grace. Ben finds he can’t take his eyes off her as she grabs a shot of something from a friend and downs it quickly.

He can’t breathe, either. Not at all. He pulls at his tie, trying to loosen it, then takes another sip of scotch. _I need to get out of here_. _Maybe I should try drinking alone, no matter what the experts say_.

And while he’s thinking of an escape route, he loses track of her. Until.

“Why the fuck are you in a suit on a Saturday night?” a crisp British voice asks, somewhat rudely, from behind him, and Ben jumps.

She’s standing right here, he thinks. In all her glory. Tight jersey, tiny shorts, neon green Reebok high tops? She’s a far sight different from the women he works with all day in their conservative suits and sensible heels.

He gulps, dragging his eyes from her legs to her lovely face, and every possible retort to her question escapes him. Godddamnit.

“Work.”

Yes. A great answer, Ben. Stellar, really. Sure to impress this woman. Wait. _Am I trying to impress her?_ No no. Better to get out of here fast. Not your crowd, dude. And definitely not your people. Stranger. Strange land. An interloper.

“Do you work here?” she asks, as if she already knows the answer, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No?”

Ben, at this moment in time, wishes he could disintegrate. _Where word. How. This is… I argue shit in court. Come ON, words_.

“No, you do not. You, sir, are overdressed. You’re also wearing far too many clothes. Lots of extra pieces. Jacket. Tie. Are those _wingtip_ shoes? Where the fuck did you think you were going when you left… the mortuary? Because I think you look like you’re an undertaker.”

Is that… amusement in her eyes?

Ben’s so baffled he just stares at this rare and wild creature with her glitter eye makeup and winged eyeliner. _She looks like a disco feline. Okay. The scotch must really be kicking in_.

“I’m a lawyer.”

“And you practice the law on a Saturday night whilst dressed like an undertaker?”

Whilst? Ben bites the inside of his cheek, wishing she’d say that word again in her plummy accent.

“Apparently so,” his voice comes out cool and clipped.

He has no idea what to say to this young woman, with her dimples and her aggressive, smirking glance. So he glares at her instead, figuring that should make her take it down a notch.

“You think it’s fair to bully strangers who’ve had bad days at work?”

She grins at him, and he forgets his own name for a split second.

“Just the ones who stare at me from across a crowded bar. You know there are about fifty women in here who would punch you in the dick if I asked them to, right?”

Ben takes a step back, and Daisy takes a step forward. _Holy shit. She’s terrifying_. His usual icy lawyer look didn’t do anything to diminish her forceful character.

She grins, and Ben thinks his testicles retract just a millimeter or two.

“W-why?”

“They’re my teammates. Roller derby. Girl gang on skates.”

“Like on TV? From the 70s?”

She sighs and shakes her head, as if she’s woefully disappointed in him. She turns to the bartender and holds up two fingers, and he winks at her, busying himself quickly with pouring two shots of Fireball and setting them in front of her. Daisy winks back at him, hands one of the shot glasses to Ben.

Ben peers down at it, wrinkling his nose at the cinnamon smell almost immediately. It smells like regret.

“What’s your name?” she asks, her expression softening marginally.

“Ben.”

“Drink.”

She throws back her shot, and honestly, fearing her wrath if he doesn’t, Ben gulps his down quickly as well and coughs. “Fuck. I am too old for shit that tastes like that.”

She laughs, setting her empty shot glass down on the counter with authority.

“No one’s too old for Fireball. And now that you’ve told me your name and had a shot with me, we are officially no longer strangers, and I will proceed to bully you as long as I wish.”

Jesus fucking Christ. And Ben jolts with a stark realization. _Fuck me, I’m into it_. And Ben makes a quick decision. Whatever she throws at him, he’ll take it. He wants to see where it leads.

“I don’t know your name.”

“Daisy Chainsaw,” she replies, turning about to show me the back of her jersey. Ah yes. Chainsaw.

“Chainsaw. Is that a local family name, or?”

“Har har har, Mr. Undertaker Comedian.”

Daisy’s eyes glint with amusement, and she tilts her head at Ben speculatively.

“It’s my derby name. Most skaters pick one. You ever see a bout?”

“Can’t say that I have. Isn’t it supposed to be violent? You skate in circles and punch each other?”

“We don’t punch each other,but we do beat the shit out of each other in other ways,” she replies.

Daisy turns about and hikes up the back of her denim shorts, showing Ben the entirety of a shapely buttcheek. Which is also purple and blue and black with swirls of green. It looks like NASA satellite pictures he’s seen in magazines of distant galaxies and nebulas. There is a whole universe on her firm ass.

Ben instantly recoils. But then he leans forward, compelled.

“What the fuck happened to your ass?”

“I got knocked down and landed on a someone’s damned wheel. It hurt like a motherfucker, too.”

Ben, two scotches and a shot of Fireball deep, watches as his hand reaches, as if it’s not even attached to the rest of him, to gently graze her badly bruised ass. The gravitational pull is far too strong. At the brush of his fingers on her skin, Daisy whips around and pokes a finger in his chest, eyes wide.

“I didn’t say you could touch my arse!” she gasps. “I was just sharing a perfectly monstrous bruise.”

She’s shaking her head, as if she’s not sure what she wants to do.

“What did I tell you earlier?” she scolds.

Ben wracks his brain desperately and finally supplies, “You have fifty friends who will punch me in the dick?”

“Yes!” She looks at Ben incredulously. “And you risked that to touch my ass? Without permission?”

The bartender comes over, having heard a snippet of the conversation. He looks over Ben with an assessing glance, as if calculating how much effort it would take to throw someone his size out of the bar.

“Problem, Daisybaby?”

She gives Ben a pointed look, as if he should know how to make it up to her, and having no further recourse, Ben holds up two fingers, and the bartender snorts and pours them each another shot of Fireball. Daisy grins as if impressed with him, and Ben grins back almost reflexively. Her smile makes him want to smile.

“You’re smarter than you look, Ben the Undertaker,” she says by way of a compliment, her smile deepening as she leans an elbow on the bar counter, canting towards him.

“Lawyer,” he corrects, giving her a stern look, but she is unphased.

“Saaaame difference. Now tell me. What’s a nice undertaker like you doing at a roller derby after party?”

Her eyes hold a glint of mischief, and he realizes that this is… flirting… somehow. Before he has a chance to consider that line of thought too deeply, they each grab their shots of Fireball and whip them back. Ben winces at the cinnamon afterburn. It’s gross, but perhaps not as awful as before.

“Work is killing my will to live, so I thought I might get blackout drunk and Uber home.”

She snorts. “Well, that’s fucking grim. Why don’t I change your outlook for you?”

“How do you intend to do that? Short of burning a few buildings to the ground…” Ben shrugs and gives her an ironic look.

Daisy considers his question for a long moment, drumming her fingers on the bartop and pursing her lips. Ben suddenly feels like his fate is being decided. And when she’s made her determination, her smile is blinding.

“Okay, Ben the Dramatic Undertaker, arson is not on the menu tonight. But if you buy me Bojangles, I’ll get in that Uber with you, and we can go wherever you want after that.”

 _Jesus, that was fast._ But he refuses to second guess it.

Ben Solo has never closed out a bar tab so fast in his entire, fumbling, drunk, fancy pants lawyer life.

+++

As soon as Daisy sinks her teeth into the chicken biscuit, she lets out an unearthly moan of pleasure that sends blood rushing to Ben’s cock, which twitches with curious interest. He shifts uncomfortably next to her on the curb, knowing he’s already irreparably damaged his pants with grease from his own sausage biscuit, which, he’s forced to admit, might be the most incredible thing he’s ever had in his mouth. It’s salty, buttery, and greasy, and the sausage is probably thoroughly questionable in origin, but after four drinks, it’s quite obviously the food of the gods. 

This woman is obviously a genius. An aggressive, loud, dragon-tongued genius. With the best ass he’s seen in years. Maybe ever.

“You’ve never had Bojangles, have you?”

“I’m from New York City.”

“And I’m from London. But we live in Coruscant, and there is literally a Bojangles every 50 feet.”

“How did a Londoner get here? Isn’t it kind of out of the way?” Ben muses.

Everyone he knew, including his own mother, acted like he was announcing a terminal illness when he’d accepted a job in Coruscant with Alexander Snoke. He wasn’t sure if it was Snoke or the location people found more questionable.

She takes a long swig of the syrupy sweet tea before answering crisply in a tone that invites no further inquiry, “College. Student Visa.”

“And roller derby?”

“Is the thing I do instead of burning down buildings,” she replies with a grin.

“Fair enough.”

+++

The Uber drops them off in front of his apartment building, and as she looks up at the tony red brick building so typical of Coruscant’s expensive and exclusive historical district, she glances back at Ben with a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, and perhaps a hint of confusion.

“You brought me back to your place?”

“Did I read this situation incorrectly?”

Ben shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing from the young woman to the sidewalk, feeling as if his pulse has stopped entirely. He wants her. Badly. But his experience doesn’t run toward wild young women who apparently live to bust his balls.

“Not in the slightest. I just… I probably would have fucked you at Bojangles,” she quips quickly.

Ben coughs suddenly, seeming unable to swallow his own saliva without bringing himself to the brink of death, and Daisy starts laughing.

“You need this. You’re way too uptight. Come on,” she says before he has a chance to reply, laughing giddily, all delighted dimples. Without further thought, Ben grabs her hand and takes her upstairs.

His apartment is astonishingly spartan given his income and his zip code and the fact he’s lived in it for a little more than three years. He doesn’t spend much time here, after all. He’s either at work or asleep or at the gym or… well, that’s about it, frankly. That’s what he does with his spare time. Sometimes dinner with his coworker Hux, who despite his own sour outlook on life, is the most tolerable person at Snoke’s law firm. An admittedly low bar to hurdle.

Tonight is better than his usual, he thinks. Infinitely better.

Instead of eating take out alone in his living room and watching reruns on TV until he falls asleep, Ben Solo is stripping out of his suit at the foot of his bed while a beautiful woman shimmies out of denim cutoff shorts and a tight top. She’s lean and muscled with small breasts and trim hips, and a round, firm ass that she tells him was sculpted by hours and hours and hours of skating laps. Her sun-bronzed skin is marked by bruises she tells him are from playing roller derby, and she has fading numbers written in Sharpie on her arms from her bout. Ben’s grin turns broader as she kneels coyly on the bed watching him undress.

Her attention is rapt as he tosses aside his tie and unbuttons his shirt.

“Keep going,” she urges when he pauses slightly, and he continues.

When he peels off his undershirt, revealing his broad chest, she smiles and teases him, “I thought so. I thought I felt all that when I ran into you.”

Ben flushes, then tries to recover some of his swagger by flexing, which only makes Daisy laugh and clap her hands over her mouth.

“Oh my god. Please do that again.”

Ben flexes his chest for her again, and she tilts over, flopping onto her back laughing.

“It’s too sexy. More!” she demands, and Ben crawls onto the bed, growling and grabbing her hips and jerking her underneath his body. When he leans into her, his growing erection rubs against her intimately through his boxer shorts.

Daisy wriggles slightly, smiling as she traces her fingertips over his face, delicately touching each mole and beauty mark speckling his pale skin. She’s gentle, her eyes warm and observant as she studies every nuance of his angular face, tracing his wide mouth and his nose.

“Before we go any further, I need to know—do undertakers such as yourself have condoms on hand?”

“The corpses don’t care whether we wear them or not,” Ben replies blithely, licking and biting at the smooth, slightly salty skin of her shoulder.

Another amused laugh.

“Ben! Was that a necrophilia joke?”

“Yep,” he murmurs, kissing and nibbling his way across her collar bones as he strokes his thick fingers between her legs, petting her delicate folds, teasing them until Daisy moans and arches.

“Ben, don’t make me fall in love with you,” she gasps out, laughing even as she closes her eyes in pleasure.

“Is that what’ll do the trick? Jokes about fucking corpses? Note to self…” Ben muses out loud, happily crushing her with his body weight as he leans across her to reach for the nightstand where he stores his condoms.

“Oof, you’re heavy, you beast!” she complains underneath him without any malice, moving her inquisitive little fingers to coast over his sides and hips and finally to grab his ass firmly, making complimentary noises. 

Ben laughs and sits up off her, shucking off his boxer shorts and stretching his arms over his head and getting in a few good shoulder rotations.

“What are you doing? Getting ready to swim an 800-meter relay?” she snarks, then glances down at his cock, which juts upward proudly, thick and ruddy and already leaking at the tip.

Daisy gulps visibly and draws her knees together defensively. “Um. You’re not just going to, err, dive right in with that, are you? Does that thing come with a warning label? I feel like it should.”

It’s the first time Daisy’s been anything less than confident and teasing, and Ben’s inner neanderthal relishes it. Especially if it’s the size of his package making her turn so red. He grins, pulling a hand through his thick hair, eyes flickering from her face and downward to the apex of her thighs.

Ben shakes his head. “Oh, no. I’m definitely eating you out first.”

“A gentleman, I see,” she muses, leaning back, resting on her elbows before dramatically kicking her legs apart, confident under his gaze.

Her hazel eyes practically glow as she looks at him, and Ben pretends to bow before her courteously before sliding his face between her legs and kissing and nipping at the tender skin of her inner thighs. With each graze of his teeth, Daisy makes little sounds that he’s not sure are laughs or little gasping noises of pleasure. Maybe both.

Ben’s no neophyte, and he feels smug as he settles in more comfortably between Daisy’s sleekly muscled thighs. He’s ready to impress, and he gives her a brief smile as he leans in to swirl his tongue around the sensitive little nub. The first few swirls make Daisy’s hips jerk upward, and when he begins to flick his tongue against it, when not lapping at her core.

“God, you taste good,” he groans, sliding a hand up her body to grasp and squeeze one of her tits. He dips his tongue into her entrance, tasting her as if she’s the most delicious treat he’s ever had, and in response, Daisy pants and gasps, her hands clutching the bedspread desperately.

She’s not heckling him now, he muses as he shifts, rutting his hard length subtly against his mattress as he licks a long stripe up her wet slit, making her shout.

When Ben sucks on her clit, Daisy’s legs jerk and her body spasms, her tight inner muscles clenching as she shudders violently with her release.

 _I’m not the only one wound tight_ , he realizes. Just a few licks and sucks, and she’d come hard and fast.

Her thighs tense and tremble as she gasps through her orgasm, hips bucking. Her eyes are closed, and her mouth hangs open as she tries to catch her breath, throwing an arm over her eyes.

 _Good_.

“Fuck, Ben!”

“That is the general idea,” he replies smugly, chuckling, and she pulls back her arm to flip him off and make a face. He’s not offended, because he can read the amusement in her sparkling hazel eyes, and he can see satisfaction in the post-orgasm flush of her face.

Ben suddenly realizes that he could get used to this. The heckling. The laughter. The playful aggression. If he’s not careful, he realizes, he could want more. But that’s a thought to be pushed aside. This is just a a… it’s a whatever it is. Happenstance. He’s not in Coruscant for long, anyway, if he can help it. Three years has been long enough.

When he crawls up over her and reaches for the foil-wrapped condom he’d previously tossed on the mattress, he looks down at the flushed woman beneath him, he peers into her face with a smile.

“Still good?”

“Wishing I were dead so you could fuck my corpse?” she asks, still breathing hard from her orgasm.

“It’ll be nice to try a warm body for once, I think. Just for a point of comparison,” Ben replies blandly, ripping open the condom wrapper. He sits back on his heels and eases the condom onto his cock, rolling it down smoothly and giving her a heated look.

Daisy nods, and Ben settles his hips between her thighs, and she shifts, pulling her knees higher, opening herself to him.

Ben absently considers that it’s been a month or two at least since the last date he brought home. He hadn’t called her after. She hadn’t called him, either. Doesn’t matter, he thinks, and he busies himself with kissing Daisy’s elegant throat, biting a little bruise into it that makes her gasp and squeeze his ass, digging in her fingernails.

Ben groans and kisses up her jawline, then leans in to touch his lips to hers, but she shifts so he misses.

“Just fuck me,” she whispers and kisses along his jaw before biting his earlobe sharply.

“Mmf,” he groans, groping at her hips and sliding a hand between her thighs, finding her warm and wet from arousal. He kisses the tip of each rosy-tipped breast and continues stroking until a finger catches at her entrance, and he slides it inside, watching her face with fascination as she registers the sensation and writhes slightly against his hand.

“Stop teasing me,” she mutters, smacking his ass sharply, and Ben nips the underside of her breast in gentle retaliation.

“Fine then.”

Ben removes his hand and readjusts until his hips press against hers, and he rests on his elbows looking down at her face, at her glittery feline eye makeup, and after slicking his cock against her core, he pushes his thick cock into her slowly.

It’s a stretch. She’s tight, and he can feel her struggling to take him, judging by the little movements of her hips and the way she shifts her thighs around his hips. Ben can feel her shiver, and she makes a subtle noise as if she’s surprised, but after a moment, she takes a deep breath and relaxes.

“I thought you could handle this,” he whispers in her ear, and for that, she sinks her fingernails into the meat of his ass, making him groan.

“Sod off, you wanker,” she grumbles, gasping slightly as he hilts himself inside her, her eyes fluttering closed as she rolls her hips under him. “It’s just been a while.”

Ben finds that hard to believe. She’s beautiful and wild and had no problem demanding his attention tonight. He doubts anyone could resist her. She must hear his thoughts, because she opens her eyes and gives him a coy look as she hitches her legs around his hips, still adjusting.

“Since I’ve been with a man.”

He blinks in dull confusion and she rolls her eyes at him. Oh. _Oh_. .

“So… women?”

“What do they teach you in law school?” she wonders aloud, looking at him in utter astonishment. He can see she has no idea how anyone his age can be so thick, not considering that his blood flow is in a southerly direction, rather than towards his brain. Well.

“Mortuary school,” he jokingly corrects, and she snorts.

“You ever going to have sex with me? Or are you just into cockwarming?”

Right. Well. Ben touches his lips to her cheek and he flexes his hips slightly, making her groan.

“You do feel pretty good. I think I like my cock right where it is.”

“Pretty good?”

“Mmm. Pretty okay, I guess.”

Daisy looks outraged as Ben pulls out of her with deliberate slowness and then thrusts back in almost roughly, causing her to gasp, her mouth dropping open.

“Oh!”

“Good?”

“Well, you’ll have to do it more than once.”

Ben doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh, kiss her, cry, or throw her out of his bed. Well, he does know what he wants. He wants to fuck the hell out of this woman.

He doesn’t know what force guides him, but he grabs her wrists and pulls them over her head, pinning them with one massive hand as he looks down at her, his breathing turning ragged as he looks over her beautiful, flushed face. Her eyes alight as she gives him a dimpled grin as radiant as the hot Coruscant sunshine.

No need to say more. Perhaps he’ll just show her.

Ben growls rakishly and tucks a hand under her firm, round ass, pulling her hips tighter against his as he begins to thrust into her with smooth, steady strokes. She pulses around him, her breaths and pants higher and higher as he fucks her into the mattress. He slides his hand out from under her to touch her muscular thighs that flex with every movement, amazed and enamored of their strength.

She cries out at one point as his thrusts become rougher, her mouth falling open as if she’s seeing stars, her whole body shaking with release, and Ben releases her wrists. Her arms immediately find their way around his back, fingers pressing into the well-defined muscles of his shoulders.

“Oh my god, Ben,” she moans, burying her face in the curve of his neck as he pumps away.

“You’re incredible, Daisy,” he moans, throwing his head back as he feels the coil of tension in him tighten then tighten again, the movements of his hips stuttering then jerking as he feels himself climax, coming as hard and as violently and almost as shockingly blissfully as the first time he got laid at fifteen in his parents’ pool house by his best friend’s hot older sister. Except this is better.

He thrusts through his orgasm, reveling in how her tight cunt clenches and flutters around his cock, and finally, eventually, he sags into her, breathing harder than he did after his last gym session. Far harder.

Ben’s not sure how long they lay there like that, sweating and panting, but he eventually manages to pull himself out of her and retreat to the bathroom to discreetly dispose of the condom. When he returns to bed, he brings Daisy a glass of water, and she grins at him, her expression relaxed, sated, even.

“Is this you bringing tribute? Are you trying to secure my good graces so I’ll fuck you again?” she asks him cheekily.

“Are you capable of doing anything besides busting my balls?”

She considers it for a second, takes a sip of water, then considers it a moment longer.

“’fraid not, Ben. Tell me, though. Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“Did I change your outlook?”

Ben snorts and collapses back into bed next to her, realizing he’s still entirely naked, his dick flopping heavily against his thigh. Usually, he at least slides back into boxers after sex, but Daisy hasn’t bothered putting any clothes back on, and she seems unconcerned about her nudity. She shouldn’t be concerned, Ben thinks. Her body is perfect. She has the sculpted body of a warrior.

“I feel much less inclined to burn Coruscant to the ground.”

“That’s an improvement.”

+++

“Did you win?” he murmurs hours later into the back of her neck, in the dark bedroom, sweaty bodies wrapped around each other under slightly damp sheets. He kisses her neck gently.

“What?”

“Did you and your dick-punching teammates win the game? Bout. Whatever.”

She snorts and snuggles into him closer, wriggling her firm, peachy ass into his crotch.

“Obviously.”

Ben makes a noise as if he should have figured.

“What was the score?”

She shrugs.

“Don’t know. But you are talking to the MVP.”

He snorts.

“Obviously.”

+++

When Ben wakes up in the morning, he can still smell her. Sweat and fireball and Bojangles and soap. There’s a streak of glitter on the pillow next to his from the eye makeup she’d been wearing.

But no Daisy.

Ben calls out for her, slips out of bed and walks around, but no Daisy.

From the crumbs and the mug on the counter, he can see she made herself toast and jam and a cup of tea before letting herself out.

He groans and sinks down on the brown leather couch in his living room.

He doesn’t even know her real name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is based off my experiences in the roller derby world. Old school derby after parties are things of legend. The after party events described are all-too-real, except where otherwise noted. 
> 
> Twerking rodeos? I was there, Gandalf, three thousand years ago.
> 
> [Fireball, Bojangles, and Hot Derby Nights - Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1GpMHL9x5rMW6F1axv0jt6)
> 
> [JunkyardJediTrash on Twitter](https://twitter.com/junkyard_jedi)


	2. Polearoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben can't get Daisy Chainsaw out of his mind. He decides to go looking for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://ibb.co/TbHdbxm)  
> 

“What do you mean you didn’t receive it?” he growls, slamming his hand against the desk angrily.

Ben Solo strides away from his desk toward the window, phone pressed to his ear as he glares across the Coruscant skyline, trying to quash the boiling rage inside him. That brief should have been filed last week. Fuck. After the court clerk restates that the filing is not present, Ben ends the call and hurls his phone against the wall, grimly satisfied at the cracking down the screen makes before turning and stalking out of his office.

“Mitaka!”

A short, nervous man with slicked-down dark hair prairie-dogs over a cubicle wall, eyes round.

“You’re fired. Get the fuck out of here.”

Mitaka’s already a pale man, but now he’s white as a sheet. But he knows there’s no protesting anything when Ben Solo is on a rampage. He drops out of sight and begins packing up his things as fast as he can. If he’s lucky, he won’t cross paths with Solo on his way out the door.

Ben storms past the gulch of cubicles toward Armitage Hux’s office, every paralegal and secretary and junior associate averting their eyes in blind terror as he passes, and he throws open the door even as Hux’s assistant scrambles to tell him Hux is busy right now. Ben seriously doubted that. Hux was probably playing chess on his damned phone, more concerned with his online rankings than winning this case. After all, his father was an old crony of Snoke’s. And Ben’s parents, well…

Hux jumps out of his chair, dropping his phone on his desk with a clatter.

“What the fuck, Solo?”

“Mitaka’s fired. The little shit stain didn’t file the brief on time, and now opposing council is going to run a goddamn train on us next week.”

The tall redhead’s mouth drops open. “Well fuckity fuck. What am I supposed to do about that?”

“Same as always. _Nothing_.”

“Now you wait just a minute. I have been doing scads of grunt-work on this case for months. I have deposed every witness and their ugly cousin. You have no idea.”

“Fine. Great. Wonderful. Get the fuck off your phone. We’re going to the courthouse today to submit the filing in person.”

“Why _we_?”

Hux is immediately suspicious. Ben Solo is not known for ride-alongs to the courthouse. It almost smells like collaboration. Brothers-at-arms shit. No, that’s not what Ben Solo typically does.

“You’re the charming one. And you’re going to ask the clerk out to dinner.” Ben’s voice is clipped, and he looks at the other man with a smirk.

Hux’s face pales with outrage. “Are you pimping me out for a legal victory, Solo?”

Ben shrugs, non-plussed that Hux has suddenly found an ethical line he isn’t eager to cross. “Victory isn’t guaranteed. Oh, don’t give me that look. Expense the dinner. Besides, she’s just your type.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Total asshole.”

+++

Ben runs his fingers through his hair. Overly long and unprofessional, Snoke says, but it’s Ben’s one rebellion against the asshole. He’ll work the 60+ hour weeks, travel all over the state doing depositions and records research, write brief after brief, then go to long client dinners and cocktail parties. Anything to build his resume. Anything to build a reputation that isn’t founded on his family’s legacy.

But.

It’s pushing 10 p.m. on Saturday night, _again_ , and he’s still at his desk, _again_ , and he’s still in his uncomfortable Brooks Brothers suit, _again_.

And Ben decides, as he locks away his laptop, and looks down at the cracked cell phone he’s been too busy to replace, that maybe he needs a drink. Or two.

Something to blow off a little steam from his miserable life.

 _Maybe a certain wild child with hazel eyes and a perfect ass will be there_ , something whispers in the back of his mind, and he groans.

He’s been thinking of her far more than he would like. Three weeks ago, she’d breezed into his life and right out of it, and he hasn’t seen a hint of her since. Admittedly, they don’t likely run in the same circles, unless she’s secretly some stodgy lawyer’s wife who uses roller derby in lieu of therapy to cope with the mind-numbing boredom of cocktail parties and charity luncheons.

But he’s looked, anyway. When he had lunch downtown last week with a client, he’d kept his eyes open for her. At the grocery store, even though she probably doesn’t live on the same side of town, his eyes lingered on any slim brunette until she turned and wasn’t Daisy.

The odds aren’t in his favor that he’ll ever see her again, but Ben decides there’s no harm in going out for a drink. At the same place he last saw her. So fully having had enough of his awful workday, Ben strikes out on foot downtown to the endless warren of bars and restaurants that overflow with politicians from the statehouse, college kids, military from the local base, and everyone else. Coruscant, a college town and a state capital and the biggest city in the state, has a large and variegated population, and only the magic of Saturday night seems to bring these groups together.

When Ben makes it past the burly ID-check guy, he sees that the Resistance Bar, somehow, is even more crowded than he remembers it. It’s hotter than the devil’s asshole, too, and everyone’s sweating.

Bodies pack in tight, and people hold their beers and drink glasses aloft as they navigate through the horde. The music is thumping from the stage where half a dozen people are piled on a ratty old couch and a video projector screen is showing increasingly surreal music videos.

The same bartender is behind the bar, and Ben shoves through the crowd, using his size and scowl to gain access to the bar counter where he orders a scotch on the rocks.

It’s only when he finds a smidgen of brick wall to press against and watch the crowd surge and move as the noise grows steadily louder until everything’s a roar of conversations and laughter and Ben wonders _why, why, why_ he thought he should have a drink at Resistance Bar when there were any number of bars that had scotch. Some even had a place to sit and understated music whispering from invisible speakers and clientele who looked more J. Crew than… whatever this was. A sea of people in denim vests and truckers’ hats or knit beanies—in this heat, _hoooow_ , he wonders—and some not even wearing pants in favor of booty shorts.

_Booty shorts. Roller derby._

_Well. Well then._

_Perhaps…_

Ben scans the crowd more closely, and as he looks toward the archway leading into the adjoining room, he sees a cohort of glitter-streaked women in matching jerseys headed that way, laughing wildly at some private joke. The people previously slumped on the ratty couch are up and trying to turn it around so they can get a view of whatever’s about to happen in the other room.

He downs his scotch quickly and slides past the bar, pausing long enough for a refill,another and he begins the great migration toward the other room as the music cuts out suddenly. An exuberant voice comes over the sound system throughout the bar.

“Are you reeeeeady!? The sometimes-victorious Coruscant Roller Derby is here tonight to bring you POLEAROKE! First up, we have our very own Twisted Fister and Janet Jacks ‘Em here to start the party! Let’s have some applause!”

The first beats of a song start playing, and as Ben finally wedges himself in the room, taking up space along the back wall with a motley assortment of men drinking PBR, he sees another stage at the far end of this secondary room, this one with a karaoke setup and a pole.

A silver pole from floor to ceiling.

A pole that a woman with black, curly hair is dancing around provocatively, occasionally hooking a leg on it and twirling while she arches back.

_Ooh, baby, do you know what that's worth?_

_Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth_

_They say in Heaven, love comes first_

_We'll make Heaven a place on Earth_

_Ooh, Heaven is a place on Earth_

Pole. Karaoke. Pole dancing. And karaoke.

The crowd is howling. The woman singing, clearly, confidently, more than carrying the old Belinda Carlisle song, he recognizes from the week before as the tall Amazon blonde with deadly twerking powers. She looks affectionately at her dancing counterpart, and saunters by to make a slow twirl of her own around the pole during an instrumental break.

She can really sing. Ben finds himself nodding along, sipping his scotch, even as his eyes wander the crowd. She must be here tonight, he thinks. And just when he spies a brunette with her hair tied sloppily into three buns, the man next to him nudges his arm.

“Derby widow?”

“Excuse me?”

Ben arches an eyebrow. The guy next to him is a tallish fellow, well-fed with a neat beard, wearing an old Radiohead tee shirt and cargo shorts and Crocs on his feet.

“Are you with one of the girls?” he asks Ben, motioning to the sea of women dancing and drinking. “It’s what we call ourselves.”

“Uh, no. I was just curious what this was.”

He laughs and smacks Ben on the arm jovially. “It’s an episode of Wild Kingdom. Let me narrate.”

The guy leans in toward Ben and in a stage whisper begins to describe the setting.

“Here we have a herd of wild roller derby girls in the strange ritual known as the after party. They have been training for no prize, no money, no achievement beyond more bruises and the promise of getting totally shit-faced with their teammates. Note the affection with which they treat one another.”

A redhead has a leg wrapped around a teammate’s waist and is licking her face while the other laughs.

Another pair of women have their leggings pulled down just enough to compare ass bruises.

A tall woman is demonstrating twerking techniques to a small, rapt audience with one leg propped up on a chair.

Uh huh.

Ben’s been to frat parties and law school parties. Sometimes they were loud and raucous. But never like this. This feels slightly more unhinged.

When he looks at the faces of these women, he sees a joyous freedom that’s almost aggressive in its intensity. They’re claiming their fun. They’re owning it. Ben arches an eyebrow at the guy, and his counterpart belly laughs and takes another long swig of PBR.

“Is this every Saturday?”

“Oh hell no. They’d all die of alcohol poisoning. There’re usually one or two bouts a month, tops. It’s a lot of work—they train and do all the bout production themselves. Well, with a little slave labor from us derby widows, of course.”

The emcee takes the mic again as he pulls up the next song on the karaoke machine, and Ben recognizes him as the master of ceremony from the twerking rodeo last time. He’s as energized as ever, all broad white teeth in a radiant smile and expressive, happy eyes. That level of enthusiasm is downright unnatural. Ben nudges the man next to him.

“Who’s that?”

The guy groans and laughs. “Poe. He’s their coach. He lives for this shit. Roller derby is his life. He owns this bar, actually.”

“So naturally all the after parties are here.” Good to know. Very good to know, along with her preference for cinnamon whiskey and greasy chicken biscuits. He’s filing this information away for no reason. Nope. No reason at all.

The guy starts to say something else, but suddenly Ben’s mouth runs dry as Daisy takes the stage with a petite, dark-haired girl with cheeks like fresh, crisp apples.

“Folks, we have here one of Coruscant’s fiercest blockers, Shock n’ Awe, and dancing for the money they throw is her royal majesty, the Queen of England, Daisy Chainsaw!”

Daisy grabs the pole with one hand and makes a lazy spin around it. Her tiny, silver spandex shorts reveal everything he already knows about her firm, peachy ass, and Ben finds himself wanting to take a bite. God. He needs help.

As Daisy completes her slow circle, he catches the tiniest hesitation in her as her eyes lock onto his, her lovely mouth forming an O of surprise. And fuck it all, she grins. He feels something like electricity rip down his spine, he’s so riveted.

The music starts, and Shock n’ Awe takes command of the stage like a sultry-voiced warrior.

And Daisy begins to move. And there’s nothing but her and the music.

_Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell_

_Jimmy Rodgers on the Victrola up high_

_Mama's dancin' with baby on her shoulder_

_The sun is settin' like molasses in the sky_

_The boy could sing, knew how to move ev'rything_

_Always wanting more, he'd leave you longing for_

She sways, her body at one with the music as she moves her hips slowly, sensuously, before merely strolling around the pole, looking sultry and casting him a glance like a lightning strike. When the chorus hits, she grabs the pole and hoists herself up, leanly muscled arms flexing, and she hooks her knee and twirls elegantly with one leg extended, and her body arched. She drops one arm outward, and just before she twirls to the bottom, she somehow kicks out of it and lands lightly on her feet, as nimble as a cat.

_Black velvet and that little boy smile_

_Black velvet with that slow southern style_

_A new religion that'll bring you to your knees_

_Black velvet if you please_

Holy shit.

Ben somehow manages to find the wherewithal to close his mouth, and he swallows the last of his scotch. There’s too much blood rushing south right now.

_Thoughts hard. Dick getting hard. No no no, public place._

He somehow manages to shove back the caveman part of his brain, and he realizes, in that moment, that he has no game plan whatsoever. He’d never made it past the initial stage of deciding to get a drink. He hadn’t even fully admitted to himself that looking for Daisy was part of his plan.

He sets his glass aside in a plastic bin left out for people’s empties, and his panicked brain reels through options. Buy her a drink. Okay. Okay. Offer food. Yes, she eats (like a feral cat). A, um, a ride home? Ben wipes his suddenly sweaty hands on his trousers.

When the song is over, the room erupts in applause, and she high-fives her friend before they lightly hop off the stage and disappear into the mob of people.

“Wait, wait, who are you looking at?” the guy next to him asks. “Whoa, fuck, are you looking at Daisy?”

His eyes grow large as he stares at Ben, shaking his head. “Good luck, dude. Holy shit. She’s _insane_.”

It’s right about then a blonde woman with an ample bosom walks up to him and grabs the front of the other guy’s tee shirt. If she’s standing too close to Ben, she doesn’t notice, and Ben shuffles away awkwardly.

“Daddy, take me home,” she whimpers plaintively, words slurring drunkenly as she pouts out her lower lip. “Daddy, I’m so drunk.”

Ben’s gawking, when just as before, an amused, British-accented voice startles him.

“Well, fancy meeting you here!”

She’s awfully fucking good at sneaking up on him. And _out_ on him.

He jumps and turns, then remembers to smile. After three hellish weeks of work, his face hardly seems capable. The muscles are tight. Resistant.

“Daisy! Hey. Uh, nice dance.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes.

“Shock won’t sing unless someone dances. She’s super shy.”

“She seemed to own the stage pretty well.”

“That’s because she thinks people are too busy staring at my ass to worry about herself,” Daisy says with a laugh. Then she adds, slyly, “I’m surprised you heard her sing at all. I could feel your eyes on me, burning holes in my clothes.”

_Busted. Shit. Abort mission. Cannot flirt if she knows I’m ready to roll over and show her my belly._

“Need a drink?”

“Could use a shot.”

There’s a back bar that opens into a corridor that probably leads to bathrooms and the staircase to a rooftop patio like so many of the old brick buildings in downtown. After attracting the attention of the bartender with a wave of his hand, Ben acquires two shots of Fireball, and she smiles at him approvingly.

“Clever boy. He learns.”

“My mother didn’t raise a fool,” Ben replies casually, clinking his shot glass against hers before knocking back the awful-tasing cinnamon whiskey.

“But she raised the Monopoly Man. Or do you prefer Mr. Peanut?”

“What?” Ben blinks and sets down the empty shot glass back on the bar counter.

“Your clothes! All you need is a top hat and a monocle. After the rash of shit I gave you last time, you still rolled up in a suit to the Resistance Bar! Either you want me to make fun of you, or these are the only clothes you own and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

Ben snorts.

“Maybe I have a humiliation kink. Or maybe I work more than 60 hours a week, and I came straight from work.”

“It’s definitely the humiliation kink, Mr. Peanut.”

Ben leans back against the bar and eyes Daisy up and down to see if there’s any opportunity to bust her chops on anything. The problem is she fits in here. She’s wild and beautiful and happy among people who are much the same. It’s him, he realizes. He’s the one looming like the grim reaper, eager to steal a little life for himself.

But as Ben studies her, his eyes catch on some angry, purple bruises on her arms, shaped like fingerprints, he freezes. An angry wave crashes through inside him.

“Who the fuck did that to you?” he growls suddenly, and Daisy’s eyes widen as she steps away from him, holding up a hand defensively.

“Wha-?”

“Your arms! Who’s been grabbing you?”

She looks like someone’s been grabbing her, bouncing her off the walls, and who the fuck would dare? Ben’s heart races, and he motions at her arms. “Look at yourself!”

She looks down at her arms, her expression confused, then back up at his face, and she laughs. A silvery sound of amusement.

“Oh! No one! Well, everyone, actually. My teammates did this to me.”

Ben stares uncomprehending, his mind a whirl of thoughts. Is there… hazing? In roller derby?

“What the fuck? I—”

“No no! It’s fine. It’s from derby. Braced blocking. We hold onto each other’s arms sometimes, and, um, it gets intense, and sometimes bruises happen. And yeah, I know it looks like someone’s beating the shit out of me.”

She puts a tentative hand on Ben’s arm, smiling up at him warmly, with no hint of her usual playfulness.

“Thank you for asking. Really.”

“Um. You’re welcome. Jeeze, though. That looks awful. I can’t be the first person to notice.”

Rey tilts her head and gives him a curious look as if she’s not quite certain what she’s seeing or hearing is real. “No one’s ever asked, actually. You’re the first who cared.”

A second beats between them, and Ben shifts awkwardly under her regard.

“How’s the bruise on your ass? I care deeply about that, too.”

Daisy’s hazel eyes spark, and she throws back her head with a big laugh that causes Ben’s world to tilt on its axis.

“My ass is currently unbruised. If you’re lucky, you might get another look at it.”

Ben hums thoughtfully and turns back to the bartender, and he motions for two more shots of Fireball. Behind them, Poe, the derby coach, is belting his way through Journey’s _Don’t Stop Believin’_ while a little blonde with two buns in her hair writhes in front of the pole with dramatic flair.

They clink their glasses together, and she gives him a speculative look. “Are you ever going to come to this bar in something more casual than a suit?”

“Maybe when you tell me your real name.”

She huffs and throws back her shot of Fireball and wriggles along to the music for a moment before answering. “Daisy’s real enough. It’s what I chose, which is more than I can say for the other.”

“That’s a very philosophical approach to naming, Miss Chainsaw. Is that what you’re studying? Philosophy?”

She blinks, not understanding for a moment, then laughs. “Oh, right. I did tell you I was a student. I’m a grad student. Mechanical Engineering.”

Ben nods, impressed. Considering how lightning quick her banter is, however, he’s not surprised she’s smart. There are no dull edges in this girl.

“That’s not an easy field. Grad students have time for roller derby?”

“Roller derby is necessary. I study, I work, I sleep, and if I didn’t make time for this… arson,” she says lightly, winking at Ben.

“You know, I haven’t thought about arson once since the last time we met,” Ben says, leaning forward with a sly glance.

It’s true, too. He’s smashed his phone. He’s fired two people, including Mitaka, and he’s thrown a stapler at Hux in a moment of pique. But he hasn’t actively wished for kerosene and matches.

This thought is interrupted by the tall blonde, _Twisted Fister?_ Ben vaguely recalls, who comes up to slap Daisy’s ass, first winding up and cracking the palm of her hand against the smaller woman’s backside with an intensity that makes Ben tighten his butt cheeks in sympathy. Daisy jumps and yelps, and she whips around to punch the taller woman in the arm.

“Fuck, Fister, that hurt!”

“Well, you were so entranced here by Mr. Suit and Tie I knew I had to do something drastic. C’mon. Poe says you need to sing. You know the rules.”

Ben glances at Daisy curiously, and she rolls her eyes, sulkiness touching her pretty mouth.

“I fouled out of the game. If I don’t sing, I have to skate punishment laps tomorrow morning whilst dragging a fucking tire behind me.”

 _Fuck. Say whilst again,_ he thinks.

She laughs at the look on Ben’s face.

“Yes, everything is very regular here. I swear.”

Rey pauses, studying Ben’s face as if she’s trying to puzzle something out. She must find something she likes, because she grins with charm, briefly biting her lower lip coyly.

“Say, Mr. Peanut, do you like Jefferson Starship?”

“I guess?”

Rey grabs Ben’s hand and hauls him up to the front of the room, not caring overmuch as he is forced to crash through people with his gigantic body. She’s seeing holes in crowds that he wouldn’t willingly attempt on his own, and he’s used to bulldozing to make way. And up at the front, Poe’s working through all the slips of karaoke song requests.

“Poetato! I’m here for my punishment.”

He looks up with that damned toothpaste commercial grin of his. “Queen Daisy! How shall you thrill the peasants tonight? Joan Jett? Lily Allen? Fiona Apple?”

She shakes her head. “Starship. You know the one. The duet.”

Poe seems to notice Ben for the first time, and even though he’s on the stage, his head tilts up in astonishment. “Who’s the fridge?”

“Ben. My duet partner. He loves to sing.”

Ben’s head whips to look down at her, aghast. It’s not like he didn’t see this coming. But ‘loves to sing’ is an awfully strong statement for someone who doesn’t know him, especially when in fact, he hates to sing. In public, anyway.

“Right-o. Well, let me get it queued up…” he shuffles around and hands Daisy and Ben their microphones and jerks his thumb at the stage. “I take it this is your way of saying you’re not coming to practice tomorrow morning?”

Poe looks between Daisy and Ben knowingly.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be there, asshole. I’m just not dragging tires while you drink beer and laugh at me.”

“You need a dancer?”

“Nah. Ben and I have this handled.”

Right.

The look she gives Ben is extraordinarily confident, and Ben shifts from foot to foot like a nervous giraffe after he steps up on the stage with her and waits for the music to start. The sea of derby skater eyes stares back at him curiously, and he can see Fister smirking from their previous spot near the back bar, her arm around Janet Jacks ‘Em’s waist. Ben feels a trickle of sweat down his back, and suddenly he feels like he’s burning alive in his suit.

Another ruined suit.

Daisy’s right. He’s got to start dressing down. He makes plenty of money, but not enough to buy expensive replacement suits every three weeks.

Daisy leans over to look at his mic and flicks it on and gives him a confident smile. “Just follow my lead.”

“I don’t think I have a choice,” Ben mutters, giving her a brief glare, wondering how he ended up here. Then he notices her dimples and the way her eyes flash with crackling intelligence. Of course. Of course. And that fine ass. That’s how things like this happen.

Ben tugs nervously at his tie as the music starts, and he follows the karaoke prompts when the music starts.

Oh thank god. He knows this song. The universe has thrown him a bone after all.

Ben exhales a sigh of relief, pretends there’s no one else in this crowded, hot, noisy, stinking bar but the lovely woman next to him, and he sings, his voice rich and deep. Daisy brightens as he begins, her face shining with pleasure, as if he’s proven something quite good about himself to her.

_Lookin' in your eyes_

_I see a paradise_

_This world that I've found is too good to be true_

_Standin' here beside you_

_Want so much to give you_

_This love in my heart that I'm feeling for you_

Daisy’s verse is next, and her voice is a pleasing alto that carries the tune well. When she turns to Ben, her eyes meeting his with a bright joy as she sings, stepping closer and closer to him.

_Let 'em say we're crazy_

_I don't care about that_

_Put your hand in my hand_

_Baby, don't ever look back_

_Let the world around us_

_Just fall apart_

_Baby, we can make it_

_If we're heart to heart_

And at the prompt, they sing the next verse together, face to face, eyes holding each other when not glancing surreptitiously at the karaoke prompter. Daisy’s eyes are green and golden, filled with the promise of bounty, with nothing but boundless possibility before them.

The realization is like a lightning strike in his soul, and the only thing tethering him to this very moment is the song.

This is it. She’s the one.

_And we can build this dream together_

_Standing strong forever_

_Nothing's gonna stop us now_

_And if this world runs out of lovers_

_We'll still have each other_

_Nothing's gonna stop us_

_Nothing's gonna stop us now_

+++

“Oh my god!” Daisy cries out, writhing on top of Ben as she bounces on his cock, his big hands holding her hips as she climaxes violently, tight inner muscles clenching in waves of spasms that make her lean, muscular body jerk.

Her face is pink, her lips parted, and she looks like she’s left this worldly existence for a few moments before she crashes against his chest in a sweaty limp heap.

Ben grunts and rolls her over onto back and she moans underneath his weight as he rolls his hips.

“My turn,” he growls, raking his teeth over her collarbone as he begins thrust into her harder, making her hips buck underneath his as she pants. She buries her face in the curve of his neck hands clutching desperately at his broadly muscled back, and Ben hooks a hand under her knee, lifting her leg higher, spreading her open so he can fuck her more deeply.

“You’re amazing. So tight. So good and tight for me,” he groans, knocking the breath out of her with every thrust, making her pretty little tits jiggle. “Want to fuck you every night.”

“Ben,” she whimpers, panting into his neck, biting down on his shoulder.

Oh god. The sharpness of her teeth makes Ben gasp and his body jerks and spasms as he comes suddenly, his thrusts growing stilted and ragged as he shouts his pleasure before collapsing into her heavily.

He lays there for a long time, still snugly insight her tight cunt, kissing along her neck and jawline, frowning when she pulls away before his mouth touches hers.

He gets up to go to the bathroom and dispose of the condom, and when he comes back, Daisy is sitting up, rummaging in a greasy Bojangles bag they’d left on the nightstand in their quest to get undressed and into bed as quickly as possible.

“It’s cold, but it’ll do,” she says with a grin, unwrapping her chicken biscuit and taking a big bite as Ben crawls back into bed next to her.

“You’re getting crumbs everywhere,” he grumbles, swatting at the sheets, but Daisy shrugs nonchalantly.

“Bite,” she instructs, holding the biscuit to his mouth, and Ben obediently takes a bite of the buttery, greasy, delicious biscuit.

“Okay, you’re right. The chicken is the superior biscuit.”

“Of course it is. Bojangles is all about their chicken. C’mon, Benjamin Peanut, Attorney at Law. Use that big brain,” she teases, taking another big bite, followed by a long sip of syrupy sweet tea.

Ben grabs the remainder of the biscuit out of her hands, making her gasp in outrage, and eyes locked with hers, he eats the remainder of the biscuit in quick bites, then leans over to wrap his mouth around the sweet tea straw and take a long drink.

“Are you shitting me!?” she gasps, laughing. “You’re stealing a starving woman’s Bojangles? You know that’s a hanging offense in this state, right?”

Ben taps his chin thoughtfully. “Ah yes. I remember seeing that statute when I was studying for the bar exam. It was in there with the ‘he needed killin’ defense and the ‘no court of law would convict her’ excuse.”

“Chicken-based crimes are very serious. I thought you, of all people, would know that, Mr. Peanut.”

“I do know that chicken-fucking is illegal.”

“How do they police that, do you think?”

“They follow the feather trail?”

Daisy snorts and snuggles into Ben’s side, and he doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her, trying not to look too pleased.

“What are you doing in Coruscant, anyway? You’re from New York City. I bet you went to some posh uni, too. You have a silver spoon look about you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I might be trash from a council flat, but I do know a nice suit when I see one.”

“Oh, so now you think it’s nice?”

She snorts and looks up at him with innocent eyes. “I never said it wasn’t a nice suit. I only said you looked ridiculous wearing a suit at the Resistance Bar.”

“Ah yes. A distinct difference. Do go on. Why do I not belong here?”

“The way you look at everyone. As if we’re a completely different species. You never went to a crazy party where you’re from?”

“I thought I had been to crazy parties. I was in a fraternity.”

“Ooooh, that’s wretched! Please tell me you didn’t wear polo shirts and shorts embroidered with pink whales like some kind of twat.”

Ben winces, and Daisy claps a hand over her mouth as she barks a laugh.

“I fucked a yacht twat!? This is terrible! My vagina is a serious source of shame right now. It has clearly made a bad decision for me tonight.”

“What the hell is a yacht twat?” Ben demands, turning to push her down into the pillows, looming over her with faux menace.

Daisy replies blithely, meeting his eyes with mirth, “All those fratty wankers, going to class in their boat shoes and embroidered shorts. They always looked like they were going yachting instead of to maths or whatever it is rich boys study.”

“As a matter of reference, some of us study political science and go to law school. And we play beer pong and consider ourselves very edgy.”

Ben tries to sound haughty, but he fails, and he grins sheepishly.

“And that’s why it looked like you were going to combust at the twerk rodeo,” she says with a giggle, stroking her fingers delicately over his cheek. Ben closes his eyes, practically purring at her touch. “And why you looked like you were clutching your pearls during polearoke. You’re a poor, delicate soul. A sweet, summer child. A babe in derbyland.”

“What does that make you?”

“Compared to you? Absolutely feral.”

“But can she be tamed?” Ben muses aloud, nuzzling between her breasts and finding biscuit crumbs. He licks them off her pert little tits and he looks up at her.

“Why would you want to?” Daisy says with a frown and looking away from him. “We’re having fun, aren’t we?”

 _Fun_. Is that what she thinks this is? Ben kisses each nipple thoughtfully.

“More fun than I’ve ever had in my whole life,” Ben says slowly, watching her face. He says _fun_. He means something else. But Daisy can’t know that. Not yet. She’s feral. She’ll run. Again.

Daisy doesn’t meet his eyes when he says that, instead curling her fingers through his hair and stroking his scalp.

“Well, good. Then I’ll stay feral, and we’ll keep having fun. Win/win.”

Hours later, she’s on her stomach, and Ben has hauled her hips upward with one hand while he kisses down her spine and back up again. His hands smooth from her waist to her ribcage and back again until she shivers, and he pushes his thick cock inside her in slow, nudging movements.

Daisy gasps a little at the stretch, as always, then moans as he begins to fuck her lazily. When he bites the back of her neck, making her gasp, he laughs.

“You have a mark on your ass from getting smacked earlier,” he purrs in her ear.

“I figured. Got any ice?”

“Mmmhmm.”

His hips quicken slightly, and he feels her inner muscles fluttering around his cock. She buries her face in the pillows, panting into them as he snaps his hips into hers until they both cry out in passion and tumble onto the bed in a sweaty tangle.

Afterward, he brings her a bag of frozen peas and lays it across her butt cheek, making her jump from the cold.

Ben lays next to her, caressing her back with a big hand, stroking down the delicate notches of her spine.

“I’m almost certain this isn’t what you bought these peas for,” she says with a grin.

“You don’t know that. It could be a kink. Maybe I only eat vegetables if they’ve been on a hot girl’s ass.”

“You have a lot of kinks. Necrophilia. Humiliation. Butt vegetables. Anything else I should know about?”

Ben gives her a smile as broad as the moon. “Feral derby girls. That’s probably my biggest one.”

Daisy rolls her eyes, but her eyes glitter with something between amusement and wariness. “It’s a good thing you keep hanging out with me, then. I can probably introduce you to some.”

“Oh, good. I was going to ask, but I wasn’t sure how polite that would be.”

“Ah yes. I forgot. Silver spoon guy.”

As they talk, Ben edges closer and closer until they’re touching, and he spoons around her. When she sinks into his arms with a contented sigh and drifts off to sleep, he tosses the bag of peas over the edge of the bed and tucks the blankets around her to keep her warm.

Asleep, she looks young. Achingly young, despite the fact she must be at least 23 or 24, ten years his junior. A feral kitten.

He nuzzles her neck.

“Tell me your name,” he whispers to the sleeping girl. “Please.”

When he wakes up the next morning, she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I went to a roller derby after party where there was a stripper pole. It was a regular old bar in a junky strip mall bar… and it had a pole and a juke box (and a super high guy who kept stroking the wall, mesmerized). I danced and my husband threw dollar bills at me. True story. 
> 
> Karaoke is a mainstay of the roller derby experience, but polearoke is an invention just for this story. Considering stripperoke exists in the world, it’s not a stretch in my mind. Given enough booze and derby adrenaline, pole dancing to karaoke isn’t exactly out of the question. It had to have happened somewhere.
> 
> Derby names are a big part of derby culture. It comes from the more wild and reckless days, but the legacy carried on into the sport's revival. I have friends and teammates who, after YEARS, do not know my real name. 
> 
> Rey – Daisy Chainsaw  
> Phasma – Twisted Fister  
> Jannah – Janet Jacks ‘Em  
> Rose – Shock and Awe
> 
> Oh, and dragging tires? I've dragged some tires in my day, and it sucks donkey balls. Skating laps in an unairconditioned warehouse in 95 degree heat with a rope tied to my waist, dragging a car tire behind me... uuuuuuuuuuugh. 
> 
> Referenced music:  
> [Heaven is a Place on Earth – Belinda Carlisle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOGEyBeoBGM)  
> [Black Velvet – Alannah Myles](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tT4d1LQy4es)  
> [Don't Stop Believin' - Journey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VcjzHMhBtf0)  
> [Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now - Starship](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3wxyN3z9PL4)
> 
> [Fireball, Bojangles, and Hot Derby Nights - Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1GpMHL9x5rMW6F1axv0jt6)
> 
> [JunkyardJediTrash on Twitter](https://twitter.com/junkyard_jedi)


	3. Dragging Tires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey's POV! The inner life of a feral skate gremlin. Rey refuses to acknowledge that feelings are a thing. It might get her into trouble someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://ibb.co/TbHdbxm)   
> 

“Whoa whoa whoa! You are LATE, Queeniepie!” Poe shouts as Rey attempts to silently inch past the big bay doors of the warehouse toward the giant pile of gear by the lumpy, stained, duct-tape-repaired couches.

Shock had texted her to let her know she’d dragged her gear to the warehouse. So aside from the fact of being hungover, thirsty, hungry, sore, and in her clothes from last night, Rey is ready to practice. Even if her legs do feel wobbly _after_.

She’d hesitated after she’d slipped out of bed, denying to herself how reluctant she was to leave Ben’s warmth, and scampering around his bedroom as silent as a ghost, pulling on her clothes and looking over her shoulder at him. He looked so wonderfully peaceful, asleep in a tangle of blankets, snoring like a freight train, a big arm crooked over his face. She’d held back a silent laugh listening to his snorts and rumbling grunting noises as he rolled over, a hand flopping into the spot where she’d just been sleeping beside him.

 _Should I leave him a note…_ she wondered, only to shake her head. No note needed. This probably shouldn’t happen again. Judging from the bare walls and utter lack of personal items in his apartment, down to the nearly-empty fridge, he’d clearly not settled into life in Coruscant. Everything screamed _temporary_.

Silver spoon guy in a nice suit from New York City? Coruscant’s just a pitstop for him.

 _But what does that matter?,_ a little voice asks. _Have some fun. Treat yourself. Who cares?_

She still doesn’t leave a note. He’s too handsome, too funny, and too smart. Too sexy. Too gentle.

“I’m on time!” she shouts back, flipping Poe off.

“On time is late, buttercup! Wheels belong on the track at 9 a.m. sharp. Not 9:15 a.m.”

Rey takes a deep breath and glares at him before flopping down on the couch and dragging her gear bag towards her. As she unzips it, her head whips back from the stench. Fuck. It never smelled great, but after marinating in her bag all night long after the game, it smells like atomic funk. A wet dog, soaked in vinegar, with a fetid bouquet of rot. Other girls claim their gear smells like Fritos, but hers always seems to arc right past that to radioactive monkey house.

“Jesus Christ, Daisy! You do not get a prize for being the most disgusting smelling person here!” Jacks shouts from the track where she’s warming up her edge work.

“Fuck off! I’m washing it tonight!”

She hopes desperately there’s white vinegar at home for the pre-soak.

Shock rolls up, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, babydoll. That stink is never coming out. You need to burn it all and start over.”

Rey huffs in annoyance and begins to pull on her gear, making a face and trying not to gag as she discovers it’s wet and slimy. Every freaking practice after a bout for the last three years, she muses to herself, and it’s always a surprise.

“Daisy, you alright?” Shock’s voice is gentle, and she’s suddenly on the couch next to Rey, peering at her with concern. “Poe won’t be too mad if you need to take a day off. He’ll shout about it, but you know he’ll forgive you.”

Damn it. Shock always sees too much.

Shock and Poe had practically raised her the last few years, helping her fumble her way towards adulthood. Rey had turned up wide-eyed at a practice, hoping to watch, only for Poe to tell her that no one _watches_ a practice. She’d been wobbling in the corner on a pair of borrowed skates ten minutes later with mismatched gear and Shock hovering next to her, telling her to bend her knees and to get low. Now, three years later, Rey’s a primary jammer, and Shock and Poe still treat her like a rescued baby bird. Well. More like a rescued wolf girl.

“I’m fine, really. I’m just a little tired. I have no idea why Poe thinks we should practice the morning after a bout. He was there! He was at the after party! Why is he the fucking devil!?”

“Life is pain, Queeniepie,” Poe adds, strolling by with a shit-eating grin. “And if your ass isn’t on the track in one minute, you’re dragging tires until your legs give out.”

“Poe, that’s cruel!” Fister shouts. “Did you not see the absolutely massive man Daisy left with? I’m sure she can hardly walk this morning, let alone skate!”

Jacks and the other skaters start laughing as Rey’s face flames red, and she groans.

Poe grimaces as well, returning to the track and blowing his whistle. “Line it up! We’ve got some things to talk about…”

“Do you all see those mattresses? DO YOU SEE THEM?”

Poe motions to grubby, questionably-stained mattresses lining the walls of the warehouse to protect the skaters from wiping out against the unforgiving cinderblocks.

“Yes, Poe!” they all shout.

“Well guess what! We’re not here to make love. We’re here to FUCK. Skate like you mean it!” he shouts, pumping his fist in the air. “Get on the track. We’re doing endurance! Too many penalties last night, and I think it’s because you were tired. And tired skaters are sloppy skaters! And FUCK. THAT.”

Two hours later, 20-ish skaters are doubled-over, wheezing, drenched in sweat, chugging Gatorade and chewing through packs of Jelly Belly Sport Beans. Rey and Shock are sprawled in front of one of the industrial box fans, helmets off, blotchy red from being overheated. Rey can feel every muscle in her body trembling with exhaustion.

“Daisy.”

“Shock.”

“Daisy.”

“Shock. _What_?”

“What is your deal with that brooding water buffalo in the suit? Who is he?”

Rey fans herself, stripping out of her jersey, down to her sports bra. Half the skaters here are losing clothes quickly the hotter it gets as the sun gets higher in the sky. The only air circulation is courtesy of the big bay doors and the giant fans. And Coruscant at this time of year is both blistering and unrelentingly humid.

“Ben. Lawyer.”

There are things she can’t add to clarify. Strangely, ridiculously handsome. Big hands that make her feel small but safe as they strum her to pleasure like a carefully tuned instrument. That laugh and the dangerously sarcastic sense of humor. The way he sang with her. Without hesitation. _He sang for me,_ she thinks. _Because I wanted him to._

“Uh huh,” Shock says, sitting up with a groan.

The day after a bout was always painful in the extreme. Bruises. Overworked muscles. Strains. Velcro scrapes. Swollen knees. Throw in a hangover, and it was a witch’s brew of bodily trauma.

“Finn tells me you were giving him the full Chainsaw treatment at the last after party before you disappeared with him.”

Rey groans, closing her eyes, and without even getting up, begins to strip off her wrist guards and elbow pads. “Could be some truth to that.”

“Daisy!” Shock says without any heat, stifling a laugh. “Is it the post-bout adrenaline? The Fireball? Your hormones? You’re terrifying when you’re like that. And Finn says that poor bastard clearly didn’t even know where he was or what was going on, and you were verbally assaulting him.”

Rey bites her lip.

Ben hadn’t seemed terrified. At least, not _all_ the time. After he’d realized she wasn’t actually going to ask anyone to punch him in the dick, he’d really warmed up to her.

“I dunno. I saw him looking at me, and, um, I just wanted to see if I could get a reaction out of him.”

Rey feels hands on her feet as Shock unlaces her skates and pulls them off. A good friend always knows when her teammate is no longer capable of rolling.

“You have the same romantic game as an eight-year-old boy, you know that, right? Have you ever thought picking on someone relentlessly might not be the best way to let them know you’re interested?”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Be honest? About feelings? _Sounds made up_ , Rey thinks stubbornly.

Rey finally manages to sit up and peel off her knee pads and gaskets. Her skin is shriveled and clammy where the pads had been, much like just her knees and elbows had been submerged in water.

“Of course you don’t,” Shock says with a sigh. “Is he nice? Fister says she saw him talking to Snap before Kare got messy drunk and started whining for Daddy.”

“He put frozen peas on my butt.”

Silence.

Good.

Rey adores Shock. She’s the closest thing she’s had to a sister or a mother or anyone who ever really cared about her, but deep inside her, there’s a fragile eggshell around whatever it is she’s been doing with Ben. She doesn’t want to touch it.

She’s fooled around. Had a couple exceedingly short relationships, if they could be called that. Had a couple one-night stands. Been known to dabble in ill-advised friends-with-benefits encounters on sadness-and-alcohol-fueled nights. At least, she used to do that. Grad school happened, and any spare time she had evaporated along with her libido.

That is, until the first after party of the derby season when she’d felt eyes burning on her. Dark whiskey eyes and an impassive face with strange lines that were too angular, and a mouth that was too wide and too full, and a nose that was too big, and ears that were too big under hair that was too long, all on a body that was too tall. And she wanted all of him too much to resist the pull.

Fuck. Damn. Nope. There is no time for shit like this, she reminds herself. School. Work. Sleep. Derby. That’s balance. That’s perfect. It’s all she can handle. It’s _enough_.

“Ah yes. Seduction by frozen vegetable. It’s a tale as old as time,” Shock snickers. She smacks the side of Rey’s leg. “Get up, babydoll. Let’s go home and find something to eat. Beebee meowed all night without you. _Again_.”

+++

Home is the Pussy Palace, which she and Shock had named after too many homemade margaritas on the night they moved in with their cats, Beebee and Dio. It’s a slightly ramshackle place they’d fixed up in exchange for cheaper rent, and now the porch is painted a crisp white and features a new porch swing, and the house is tidy, if cluttered, as it overflows with Rey’s plants and Shock’s craft projects and shelves and shelves of their books.

Shock n’ Awe, known in polite society as Rose Tico, is a nurse at Coruscant Hospital. A handful of years older than Rey, she’d already been done with college by the time they’d met and become inseparable. Since moving into the Pussy Palace two years ago, their house has become a major part of the roller derby team’s social world. After the warehouse, and the Resistance Bar, of course.

People pre-game and post-game and after-after party at the palace on a regular basis. And when the derby season is off, they hold parties in the huge basement, which inexplicably has a built-in 60s-style cocktail bar that the team helped them fill at their housewarming/bar-stocking party.

And through the basement door, better yet, they have a sprawling backyard which they could set up lawn games and kiddie pools and sprinklers on hot days. It’s that time of year, Rey muses, as she looks out her bedroom window at the yard, cradling the purring, chonky, orange-and-white Beebee in her arms tenderly.

“When I am rich and famous, I will buy mouses and catnips for you, my Beebee love,” she croons, pressing effusive kisses on the top of his fuzzy head before he protests and squirms to be let down.

Rey feels worlds better since her shower, scrubbing off the numbers from her arms, even as she hissed at the sting of the water on all the Velcro scrapes and claw marks that were inevitable after a full-contact derby melee. And beyond being sore between her legs from having that beast of a man between her thighs all night, she’d noted some interesting new bruises, purplish marks sucked into the soft skin of her thighs and breasts from a soft and wicked mouth she can’t stop thinking about.

_Girl. Get a damn grip. You’ll probably never see him again._

“Finn called while you were the in shower. He and Poe are coming over with pizza and beer,” Shock says, poking her head into Rey’s room with one of her broad smiles.

“Oh, cool! Game night?” Rey asks hopefully. She’s taken a particular joy to slaughtering her friends at Catan, and her face lights up with malevolent glee.

Shock snorts. “Fuck, no. We’re sick of losing to you. I think they want to watch footage from the last two games.”

Rey sticks out her tongue and makes a rude noise. “Chickens! Bock bock bock!”

+++

“Right there! Right there! See? That cunt back-blocked me! Look! There is no way I was at fault for tripping the whole pack when I was purposely shoved to the floor!” Rey shouts, pointing at the TV screen agitatedly, pizza falling out of her mouth in excitement.

“Daisybaby, chew your food,” Finn laughs, throwing her a napkin. “Jesus, Shock, how do you live with this thing?”

Rey gives him a light kick in the meaty part of his thigh. Finn retaliates by swatting at her rump, and she howls in protest, “I’ll fight you, Finn! Don’t even try me! Remember last time?”

She’s grinning, and she takes a calculating sip of Bud Light before setting the bottle down on a side table. Shock’s already groaning. She knows what’s coming.

“Oh, last time when I picked you up and put you in a trash can, _where you belong_?”

“You came at me from behind the hedge! If I’d known—”

“Element of surprise. You can’t fault me for using that to my advantage. You fight like a wildcat.”

Rey shoves her paper plate aside and lunges toward Finn who’s already on his feet and bracing himself for impact.

“Oof!” he grunts as Rey jumps on him, wrapping her legs around his middle.

“Hammerlock! Chokehold! Bodyslam!” she shouts at Finn, laughing wildly, as Shock gets up and ambles into the kitchen to retrieve Poe.

Finn laughs and staggers under her weight but carries her relatively easily as she clings to him like a koala. “You know that just saying those words doesn’t do anything, right?”

“Face it! I’m winning! Be gracious or I’ll knife-hand you!”

Ah yes. The knife-hand. In which she pretends to sharpen her hand on her leg and then stab at Finn’s stomach. A favorite maneuver.

Poe and Shock amble back into the living room with a bag of chips and more beer, viewing the scene with absolutely no surprise. Finn and Rey have sparred happily for years like deranged puppies.

Poe sighs, “Daisy? What have Shock and I told you about fighting?”

“Not in the house?”

Rey keeps her voice hopeful, and she makes innocent eyes at Poe and Shock, who aren’t necessarily unamused, but more resigned to this existence with her.

She loosens her grip and Finn sets her back down on the floor. The two grin at each other with the conspiratorial look of naughty siblings, and Finn winks. Rey reaches out to smack Finn’s arm, and he mock-glares at her. When Rey joined the team, she quickly learned that Finn was as much a part of the derby world as Poe, even though he doesn’t work with the league beyond cheerfully slinging drinks at the Resistance Bar when the skaters inevitably show up after practice or for an after party or whenever they damn well please. The Resistance Bar is a second home for most of the skaters, and that makes Finn family.

Poe snorts back a laugh, and Shock sighs, “I swear, she’s almost housetrained. One of these days, hand to god, I’ll be able to take her out in public, and no one will know we found her in the woods.”

“Queeniepie, tell me again why the US government thought it was a good idea to give you a student visa?”

Rey sniffs as if offended they should even have to ask before retaking her seat and locating the remainder of her slice of pizza. “Because I’m very clever at maths, even if I do lack a few key social graces.”

“Right. Well, don’t make them rethink their wisdom, huh?” Poe says with a laugh and settling back onto the couch next to Finn. He hands Finn one of the beers he was carrying and kisses the side of his head fondly and grins. “Or next you’re going to have to ask one of us for a green card marriage, and then where will you be?”

“Oh, sod off,” Rey snarks, turning back to watch the bout footage.

+++

Rey’s graduate advisor had quickly realized she belonged in a laboratory and not in a classroom filled with eighteen-year-old college freshmen, teaching entry level anything. The problem was, Rey had a passion, a true passion, for the subject matter and quickly outstripped her students’ pace of learning, failing to see why they couldn’t keep up with her jackrabbit lecture style and quicksilver mind. And so, after one semester as a graduate teaching assistant, she’d been switched over to research and spent most of her day in the lab helping Dr. Kenobi with his nanotechnology work.

“Now tell me again,” she says to the older man with his neat gray hair and tidy beard, “When are we releasing the killer nano robots into the water supply? I told my friends I would warn them in advance so they could buy filtered water that week.”

Dr. Kenobi doesn’t even look up from his clipboard, responding in a bored voice, “That’s not what we’re doing here, and you know it, Ms. Niima.”

Rey laughs slightly and proceeds to set up the testing apparatus for the flow boiling experiment.

“You _say_ that, Dr. Kenobi, but with all this government funding, I sense a dark conspiracy. I’ll figure it out yet. You’ll see.”

“A little less chatter, and a little more focus, Ms. Niima,” he sighs.

He looks over her shoulder, watching to make sure all is in order, and he gives his nod of approval. While her constant barrage of chatter may frustrate him, Rey’s hands are sure and steady and she never mishandles the testing equipment and calibrates everything to humming efficiency before they begin the battery of tests.

“The chatter is the focus, Dr. Kenobi,” she says, almost apologetically. “I haven’t the ability to stay quiet for long. It’s my fatal flaw.”

“Apparently.”

This time when he looks at her, she sees a trace of something almost fond, but it disappears just as quickly. She won’t have been the first quirky research assistant to work in his laboratory, and she surely won’t be the last. She wonders what he’d think if he knew how she spent her free time when she wasn’t entering results into the database and doing data modeling in computer simulations and setting up ridiculously expensive equipment for him since his fingers were too gnarled from arthritis these days to do it himself.

Hours pass quietly, and when her lab shift is over, Rey attends class, the lone woman in a sea of men. _Unsuspecting men_ , she thinks.

They don’t know the notorious Daisy Chainsaw walks in their midst, and she smiles to herself, adding an imperceptible amount of swagger to her stride. In her vintage Whitesnake tee and skinny jeans and converse shoes, she looks like plenty of other grad students, blending in well enough among her male classmates. Here in the engineering school’s graduate program, she’s the recipient of the top fellowship, works in a research lab, and is on track to get a Master’s degree and even a Ph.D.

She has a future.

She never has to go back to London. Never. Ever. Ever.

She doesn’t have to be cold again. Or hungry again. And no one will ever lay a hand on her again, leaving bruises that everyone sees but no one cares enough to ask about.

+++

Her phone chirps during her class break, and when she glances at it, it’s a summons from Fister for a quick league meeting to discuss the bout. _Bollocks_ , she thinks.

Roller derby is one thing. The practices she can take. The bouts she loves. She doesn’t even mind the fundraising and the marketing and flyering. But league meetings are awful. Overlong and full of feelings. And if not for Shock there to give her steadying looks and the occasional rough pinch on her leg or arm, she might have knife-handed somebody into oblivion.

She parks her car, a battered old Honda Civic that had seen better days, in the Resistance Bar’s lot. After teaching her to drive, Poe and Finn had helped her buy this car with her meager savings from the waitressing job she’d had as an undergrad. They were tired of driving her ass around, they’d said. The meeting will be here, of course, and she waves at Finn who is propping the door open as she hurries past.

It’s been hours since the strawberry frosted Pop Tart she ate at breakfast, and if there’s anything worse than a league meeting, it’s a league meeting when she’s hangry.

Panera? Eh. She turns the corner, hitching her canvas book bag over her shoulder, glancing down at her phone to check the time. She has ten minutes. Okay. Okay. Maybe she won’t be late for once. But just as she begins to look up, she slams bodily into what feels like a sentient brick wall. A sentient brick wall with huge hands that grasp her upper arms to catch her before she bounces backward and hits the sidewalk.

Rey might have three years of roller derby under her belt, but physics is physics. And she just lost at physics.

She gasps and yelps as the hands steady her before letting her go, stunned, and she looks up at the wall. Person. With eyes like warm caramel, and an angular face, plush lips for kissing, and in a haze, Rey realizes she’s face to face with Ben. In the light of day.

 _Well, he’s not a vampire, genius_ , she scolds herself. _Sometimes he probably goes outside. Like now. Right now. Say something. Now._

“Mr. Peanut!” she blurts out.

“What!?” A startled voice chokes out, apparently belonging to the tall, pale redhead next to him, who is looking at her like she’s lost her mind.

“Oh, um, that’s just a joke,” Ben says, somehow keeping a straight face, somehow finding her lack of composure enjoyable from the wolfish grin he gives her, looking her up and down.

Never in her life has Rey felt so naked. Not even when she was naked. With him. Here, now, she feels _exposed_.

“This is a friend of mine. Daisy Chainsaw. Of the Coruscant Chainsaws. Do you know the family? Quite illustrious,” Ben says blithely, motioning toward her with his hand.

_Oooooh, he just did not put that down on the table._

Rey squares her shoulders, pulling herself up to her full height and extends a hand to the redhead, who is looking like he’s seen the sky turn green, the grass turn blue, and all the clouds really are just asbestos, and isn’t it _terrible_.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr…?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Redenbacher. Orville Redenbacher.”

Heh. Good one. She turns back to Ben with a broad grin. “I suppose it’s quite important for the snack food mascots to stick together. Where are you headed? Important meeting with Dr. Pepper?”

Ben eyes Rey with more hunger than is perhaps appropriate in broad daylight without a haze of booze and souped-up derby adrenaline to fuel their interaction. But strangely, she feels that same zip of electricity underneath her skin when their eyes meet, and she hates herself distinctly when she feels herself blush.

_Why does he have to look so good in that suit? Why?_

“Why don’t I leave you two alone,” the redhead says quickly. “So you can deal with whatever this is.”

He motions between them and gives Ben a canny glance and strides off back toward the statehouse where there’s a veritable surplus of lawyers’ offices in the nearby high rise office buildings. Ah. He’s as fancypants as she suspected if that’s where he works.

“I believe we’ve just been called out,” Ben muses, then turns to her with an amused but wary look.

“Are you telling me his name really isn’t Orville Redenbacher, the face on every package of microwaveable popcorn I’ve ever purchased?” she gasps dramatically, placing a hand on her chest as if completely astonished. “He _lied_ to me, Benjamin Peanut!”

“It’s Solo. Ben Solo.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t leave a note,” she blurts out.

 _No you’re not,_ a voice says.

 _Yes, you really, really are,_ another chimes in.

Rey continues, “I woke up and realized I was going to be late for practice. Had to hustle. Had a nice time, though. Thanks for the peas.”

She groans inwardly. She’s always had problems with her verbal filter. It’s usually easier to manage by embracing her inner Chainsaw and at least making it sound intentional.

Ben shoves his hands in his pockets, giving her a droll glance with faintly disappointed eyes, sighing, “I don’t know if you’re damning me with faint praise or being sincere.”

“Faint praise? I… I don’t even know what that means,” Rey retorts.

_Get him back, girl. Poke him. Shock him. Make him mad. Get a reaction. Any kind will do._

“For the record, it is not my habit to stroke egos. I figured you knew I was dazzled by your prowess,” she says with a grin that actively makes her cheeks ache. “In fact, you destroyed my understanding of reality. I left the astral plane. I now have to challenge every dearly-held belief.”

Then with a sly look, unable to control the impulse, she adds in her most innocent voice, “That last bit when you anointed my ass with frozen vegetables? It was kinky perfection. You’re quite the innovator, Ben.”

He looks down for a long moment, and she thinks he’s warring with himself, on the verge of walking away from her forever, but instead he raises his head to look at her, and his grin is so broad, his mirth so uncontained, he starts shaking with laughter right there on the sidewalk, leaning over as he wheeze-laughs.

_What? He’s… he’s laughing at me?_

Rey feels unmoored, like Daisy has lost control of this situation, and she wraps her head around the thought, not for the first time, that she is Daisy. And Daisy is her. This is… fine. It’s fine. She _wanted_ him to stay and react to her.

“I know you don’t stroke egos, Daisy. Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve talked shit at me a mile a minute from the moment we met,” he snorts and continues laughing, deep, rumbling, gasping belly laughs. “No one. _No one_ has ever spoken to me the way you do. You’re _awful_. It’s like spending time with a Tasmanian devil.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a honey badger,” she replies, still bewildered by his laughter. “Honey badger doesn’t give a shit, you know?”

“Obviously. Holy shit. Why are you like this?” he wheezes, laughing some more, straightening up as he gains some control, wiping at his eyes. “Actually, don’t answer that. Please. I like the mystery. Let me puzzle it out on my own. Let me have that, at least.”

Rey’s feet are glued to the sidewalk, but the longer she watches him, the more she feels her own laughter bubbling up, and she claps her hand over her mouth then drops it. She throws him a cocky look, hoping he won’t see through it.

“Are you going back to work?”

“I’m in a suit, aren’t I,” he replies blandly.

“That suit has never stopped you from going places that aren’t work,” Rey says with a casual shrug.

+++

“Seriously?” he gasps as Rey shoves him against the bathroom wall in the tiny sandwich shop, kissing just under his jaw as she fumbles at the waist of his slacks to unfasten his belt.

“Shhhh. Don’t act surprised,” she laughs, licking the side of his neck as she unbuttons and unzips his pants, pushing them down his hips impatiently. “Why did you think I brought you here?”

He growls, grabbing her ass through her jeans and giving her a smack. “You said you needed to get something to eat.”

“And I will, after I suck your cock,” she pauses and looks up at him, batting her eyes with faux innocence. “If that’s okay with you, Mr. Peanut?”

Ben half-laughs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the bathroom wall. “I surrender to fate.”

Rey snorts, reaching into the front of his boxer shorts to palm his rather heavy cock. Rather nice ones, she thinks, not the kind that come in a pack of four at Tesco. No matter. No matter if Fister is going to have a meltdown when Rey’s not at the league meeting. It’s worth it. Worth the way she feels right now, worth his laughter and his groans as she wraps her fingers around his thick length and strokes him erect.

“Such a martyr,” she whispers, finally pushing his boxers down enough so his cock springs free, proud and hard. He’s beautiful. Every bit of him.

She circles her thumb over the tip, smearing the slightly sticky precum around his head, tilting her head as she studies him, fully impressed. He’s so large. All over. And here, too. Seems unfair to the rest of the male population, really, she thinks.

“You really do need a concealed carry license for this thing. It’s dangerous,” she informs him before ducking down to wrap her mouth around the tip, giving him a tentative lick, then a more confident one before taking more of him into her mouth.

“Unghdfahgm” Ben replies inarticulately, a hand reaching to stroke her shoulder.

There’s only one unfortunate thing about blow jobs, Rey muses, as she sucks and bobs her mouth on his cock, and that’s she can’t talk. She can’t make fun of his wild, strained noises, and she can’t joke about the enormity of his dick, nor can she ask him if this is what silver spoon boys think about when buying wingtip shoes to go with their suits.

No, Rey can’t say any of these things when his cock’s in her mouth, wet from her saliva, and she’s tasting the subtle muskiness of him. The more he moans, the more she sucks and laves at him with her tongue, feeling every nuance of his length, exploring like him with the reverence of a cartographer. Even if he never talks to her again, she thinks, he’ll certainly never forget this.

She feels his hips shift as if he needs more, and suddenly he’s pushing toward her throat, and she moans slightly as it nudges a touch too far, feeling her eyes water.

“S-sorry,” he groans.

There’s a pounding on the door behind them.

“Ma’am, you ain’t the only person who needs the bathroom!” comes a muffled shout.

Rey pulls off Ben briefly, red-faced and panting and shouts at the door, “Hold your water! I’m taking a massive shit!”

Silence.

Ben snorts back a laugh and presses his free hand to his face, and Rey dives back in, sucking vigorously until Ben’s hand tightens on her shoulder and he moans aloud before biting his lip to stifle the noise.

“I’m gonna come…” his voice rasps out.

Rey slides a hand to squeeze his ass hard, and Ben shudders as he spills into her waiting mouth with warm pulses of his cock.

It’s saltybitter, and Rey swallows it down quickly and before pulling off him slowly. She wipes at the slight dampness trapped in the corners of her eyes before looking up at him and standing slowly, giving him the same smug look he’s given her after eating her out and making her jerk and squeal and convulse helplessly through one orgasm after another.

Ben’s still shaking from his release, a flush on his face. His hair is charmingly disheveled, and when Rey turns to look in the bathroom mirror, she realizes her hair is mussed as well, and her face is in high color.

He tucks himself back into his boxers, and she can only hear the shifting of clothes and the zipper and the buckle of his belt clinking softly as he pulls himself back together, taking steadying breaths.

“Well, I’ve got to be going now,” she says brightly, looking at his reflection in the mirror where he stands awkwardly behind her, as if he’s not quite sure what to say or do now. He’s not the only one. “Late for a league meeting. You distracted me.”

“Distracted—” he huffs slightly, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

Ben looks in the mirror, meeting her eyes through the reflection and slowly presses a kiss to her temple, holding her gaze purposefully.

“I…” he drifts off and releases her, scrubbing a hand across his face.

“Cat got your tongue?” Rey asks softly, curiosity flickering like a lizard tongue in her brain as she splashes a little water on her face and dabs it off with a paper towel.

“Nope. Chainsaw got my tongue.”

“Hm. See you around, I guess?”

Ben’s face visibly brightens as if she’s just thrown him the faintest shred of hope.

“Be easier to do that if you told me where I could find you. Or told me your name. Or gave me your phone number.”

“You haven’t had any trouble finding me so far.”

He dips his head in wry acknowledgement, a smile touching his wonderfully plush mouth—again, unfair to the rest of the male population, she thinks—and she slips out of the bathroom only for a confused and desperate woman to barge in right after her and stare agog him.

Rey giggles as she hears the woman’s angry shouts behind her as she grabs a turkey sub from the cooler by the register and throws a fiver on the counter with breezy instructions for the cashier to keep the change before she scampers out the door.

+++

“You were thirty minutes late to the league meeting! For fucks’ sake, Daisy, I don’t have these meetings for my goddamn health,” Fister bellows at practice the night next. “Finn said you were there early! How the fuck did you manage to be late?”

“Talent?”

Like hell she was telling anyone why she rolled into the meeting thirty minutes late with messy hair and a turkey sub in her canvas book bag.

It wasn’t the right thing to say, and Fister shoves past Rey, storming into the small bathroom at the far end of the warehouse, locking herself in so she can scream and rage and calm down however best she can.

“It’s not my fault you’re a petty fucking tyrant, you cunt!” Daisy shouts through the door giving it a hearty kick with her skate.

When Fister emerges, her blue eyes spark dangerously as she rolls up to Poe, towering over the shorter man. She’s 6’3” before she puts on skates and with the added height the wheels give her, she’s more than striking. She’s fearsome.

“I want her benched at the next game. She’s never on time. She clearly doesn’t respect anyone else’s time and effort here.”

Poe sighs.

“Daisy, get your ass over here,” he shouts.

Rey sighs and skates up, trying not to cross her arms over her chest defensively despite that being exactly what she wants to do.

“It wasn’t intentional, I swear,” she starts. “I wanted to be there, really, but I had an emergency.”

She somehow manages to control her face as she continues. “A _bathroom_ emergency. You do _not_ want the details.”

Poe would probably pass out if she told him exactly what kind of bathroom emergency it was. But she’d definitely tell him sometime, even if the story would have to wait at least six months. She’d wait until he was taking a gulp of beer, then she’d unleash it and watch him choke and splutter and get away from her as fast as he could.

“Fister, are you sure benching her is what you want to do? It’s your call as team captain.”

Fister glares down at Rey, looking at her like she’ll beat her with a sock full of quarters next time she catches her asleep on a derby road trip. Which is in two weeks. Rey gulps.

“You swear you had the shits?”

Rey nods.

“Alright. She skates. But in the meantime, I think she could use a little more endurance. Toughen her up. Hosnia’s going to be a rough game.”

Fuck. No no no. Oh hell. Aw goddamn.

Poe grins at Rey wickedly. “You’re staying late tonight, Queeniepie. I think some of those tires have been gathering dust. You better taken ‘em for a spin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “We’re not here to make love. We’re here to FUCK. Skate like you mean it!” – Yes. This is something a coach once said to my team during practice while pointing at the filthy, gross mattresses lining the warehouse walls. 
> 
> Admittedly, I had to nope out of the nanotechnology scene as quickly as possible. I can tell you about derby after parties, but my mechanical engineering knowledge begins and ends with the phrase, “mechanical engineering.” It is a thing that exists, and Rey is very good at it. Just… *waves hands* don’t look behind the curtain. At least my roller derby details are authentic!
> 
> The Pussy Palace is a real place that existed. Exactly as described. You’re welcome. 
> 
> [Honey Badger Doesn’t Give a Shit](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r7wHMg5Yjg)
> 
> [JunkyardJediTrash on Twitter](https://twitter.com/junkyard_jedi)
> 
> [Fireball, Bojangles, and Hot Derby Nights -- Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1GpMHL9x5rMW6F1axv0jt6)


	4. The Champagne of Beers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Ben’s POV. Alternate chapter title: Benjamin Solo and the eternal quest for Daisy Chainsaw’s attention.

Hux won’t let it go.

A week has passed since the encounter with Daisy, and Hux brings it up _every_ _fucking_ _day_. Ben contemplates shoving him through a window at least twice during this time.

“Tell me more about Daisy Chainsaw. I insist.”

Ben had made the fateful error of stopping at the water cooler, his mind idling over work and a saucy little brunette whose very existence is permeating all corners of his mind. He crumples a paper cup and tosses it into the wastebasket. He wouldn’t be so annoyed if he actually had answers, let alone answers he wanted to share. His… _thing_ … with Daisy is personal.

“I’m warning you, Hux. If you don’t cease and desist this very minute, I will make you eat your own testicles,” Ben snarls.

“I feel like your threats have become more personal lately, Solo. It’s concerning,” Hux says coolly, looking far too unconcerned for Ben’s liking. “Is this Chainsaw person a bad influence?”

Ben’s expression is altogether sour as he regards his coworker. Hux seems excited to have a rare opportunity to needle him mercilessly.

Ben knows, and it’s through careful engineering of his reputation, that the funniest thing about himself, something long agreed by the people who know him, is how patently unfunny he is, aside from the occasional sarcastic remark. One of his earliest lessons, hard-learned as an unfortunate side-effect of his mother’s political career, was that he should never reveal enough of himself for caricature.

He took that lesson with him through school. Through his early career. And now here in Coruscant.

As far as anyone knows, Ben Solo is an angry cardboard cutout in a good suit who doesn’t listen to music, doesn’t watch tv or movies, has no favorite books, no interest in sports, and never craves any kind of food.

Ben realizes he may have made himself too much of a mystery, because Hux is now far too interested in what he witnessed between Ben and Daisy.

“Solo. Where did you, _a total fucking prick_ , meet a girl who looks like that and talks to you like that?”

Ben glares at Hux. It’s usually enough to make him stop talking and go away, but no dice today.

“Who is she? Her name isn’t really Daisy Chainsaw. Are you seeing her, or what?”

_I see her when the universe deigns to throw her into my path. It’s simultaneously the cruelest and the kindest fate has ever been._

“It’s none of your business.”

Hux seems unconvinced and shrugs.

“Suit yourself. But the next time you get a drink after work, take me along. My usual watering holes are horrendous. If one more person tells me about the struggles of lawn maintenance in Coruscant’s climate, or how the pool guy charges too much money, I’m going to bludgeon someone.”

Ben raises an eyebrow at Hux. He knows boredom. It looks like his spartan apartment and barren personal life and long hours at the office. Formerly barren personal life, that is. Hopefully.

“If you ever worked past five, perhaps you could join me.”

He gives Hux a pointed look and pushes past him into his office and closes the door. It’s a conversation that needs to end.

+++

Thursday night finds Ben checking his silver cufflinks and making sure his silk pocket square is folded neatly in the breast pocket of his dinner jacket. He straightens his bowtie and heads back into the restaurant’s dining room, heaving a world-weary sigh.

Still no Daisy.

He’d lingered during client lunches and dinners downtown. He’d poked his head into an empty Resistance Bar on Wednesday night, only for the bartender to give him an odd look. He’d even googled her derby team to look for a bout schedule, but the damn website only had a construction graphic on the front page. For _four years_ , apparently, according to the timestamp.

And now he’s stuck making idle talk over hors d’ oeuvres with the firm’s top clients at one of Snoke’s lavish victory celebrations. Thanks to the firm’s work, _his_ work, rich people got richer. Poor people got poorer. Land would be developed. Oil would be drilled offshore. Goodbye sea turtles. The usual.

Three years of work, and it was more draining than he’d imagined. His parents had warned him. His uncle had warned him. And here he is, running out of reasons to stay in Coruscant.

Ben finds himself checking his watch more than once, but Snoke catches his eye with a stern glare. Ben offers a courteous nod and tight smile as he picks up a champagne flute and walks toward the front of the dining room, to the vast floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the busy Coruscant street.

“Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water?” a feminine voice trills behind him, and Ben turns to see a curvy blonde woman with brown eyes in a figure-hugging burgundy dress.

Ben forces a polite laugh, and he holds out his hand. “Ben Solo. And I prefer champagne to water.”

She titters, her smile broadening, and she steps closer into his space. “Ashlynda McGill. And don’t we all? Champagne in the evening and mimosas for brunch never gets old.”

“Ah, I come from Bloody Mary people, myself,” he offers.

Whoever she is, she doesn’t work for the firm, so she must be a client or a potential client _. Time to be charming._

“That’s one way to eat your vegetables. Now, you don’t sound like you’re from here. Let me guess. Boston?”

“New York City. Decided to expand my horizons.”

She makes a point of checking his hand for a wedding band. Seeing none, she gives him a coy grin.

“Do you miss it? We must seem like barbarians to you,” she laughs again, fluttering her manicured hand elegantly until it lands on his arm.

“Coruscant’s charming. Good weather and plenty of interesting people.”

Ben would have found her interesting only five weeks ago. He would have bought her a drink. Taken her to his apartment. Fucked her. Sent her home in an Uber. She _is_ attractive, with an oval face and even features. Her makeup is perfect. Her hair shines in rippling waves like she’s spent valuable time and money sitting in a salon chair. Yes, Ben from a month ago would have been eager.

“You’re a flatterer, aren’t you?” she says with a smile. Her hand strokes his forearm delicately, and he understands the suggestion full well. “Maybe I should be careful. You’re a sophisticated man from the big city. I might be out of my depth.”

Ben knows he’s doomed when the full force of her flirtation is projected upon him. Doomed because he’d much rather bear the brunt of a certain brunette’s hurricane of sass than hear pleasantries from this perfectly nice woman.

Something inside him screams. Just a little.

“I believe I’m the one in the deep end,” Ben replies blandly. “Who are you here with? I’d remember if you were a client.”

“I’m here with my father, Jim McGill. McGill Enterprises,” she makes a gesture toward the other side of the room.

“Yes, of course. I should have recognized your name.”

_I bet her dad and all her brothers and uncles and cousins are yacht twats_. The thought comes unbidden to his mind, in Daisy’s voice.

_What’s the female equivalent of a yacht twat? Daisy would know._

When the server comes by, he snags two more champagne flutes and offers one to Ashlynda.

“I suppose I could forgive you the slight,” she says jokingly.

That’s when Ben hears the shouting from outside, followed by the violent crash of trash cans and loud laughter, punctuated by running footsteps and shrieks and whoops.

Ashlynda rolls her eyes, her voice disdainful, “They need to do something about the vagrants. Now, I’m not saying they don’t deserve help, but they should keep clear of public places.”

The shrieking and loud talking gets closer, and he hears distinctly a startled yelp followed by a loud burst of laughter. A flicker of a memory comes alive in his brain. _That laugh._ It’s not the first time he’s heard it. It’s loud and brash and unapologetically happy.

And that’s when a herd of roller derby skaters all but frolics into view. They’re disheveled and sweaty with bedraggled hair, swatting at each other and laughing, some of them happily winding up for hip checks and booty blocks down the sidewalk.

And Daisy.

Everything inside him stills so he can watch her without the distraction of breath or heartbeat.

She’s laughing as she shoves something from a crumpled Bojangles bag into her mouth like a chipmunk and demonstrates a blocking maneuver. It must look more fluid on skates, he supposes, as she drops her shoulder and ducks under someone, but there’s still grace and confidence to her movements.

“It’s like a vagina stomp, yeah? Cut your foot in and then plow. Sit your arse right on their thigh like you’re gonna ride it,” she’s advising around a mouthful of food, her face animated.

Ben’s eyes trace every inch of her, memorizing every detail, always half-certain this might be the last time he sees her, and determined to make it count. Tiny shorts hug her ass, and her loose muscle tank does nothing to cover her bright red sports bra. She’s as lean and muscular as a leopard. He feels the impulse to shove past Ashlynda and go to her, so he can tease her about finding her again, despite her elusiveness.

“I don’t have any idea what this is, and I don’t want to be anywhere near it,” Ashlynda laughs, and she must sense she’s lost Ben’s interest, because she wanders away with her champagne flute to pursue a server carrying a tray of miniature sandwiches.

Relieved by her departure, Ben turns his attention back to the scene in front him, staring at Daisy like a man starved.

Some voice in the back of his mind tries telling him to get a grip, but he snarls at it to shut the fuck up. He’s wanted one thing for nearly two weeks, and she’s here. Now. When he’s stuck in this damned party.

Daisy must sense eyes on her. He sees her shoulders still, and she rises out of the blocking position she’d been demonstrating. With a slow turn toward the restaurant window, her puzzled expression evolves into astonished, pleased recognition at the sight of Ben.

Unfortunately, she is so focused on him, she doesn’t see her teammate swing back her way with a playful hip check that sends the unprepared Daisy sprawling with a squawk of surprise onto the concrete sidewalk in an awkward, flailing heap.

Ben’s mouth pops open, and he takes an instinctive step forward to help, knocking into the window and feeling not at all very smart as he rubs his forehead with a grimace.

“Oh shit! Daisy! I’m so sorry! I thought you were still playing!” the tiny blonde with double buns squeals, kneeling down to help her teammate to her feet.

Daisy brushes grit and dirt from her hands and legs, laughing off her teammate’s concern, and when Ben sees she’s alright, he’s unable to stifle a laugh of his own. He attempts to hide behind his hand, but as their eyes meet through the window again, he knows Daisy’s caught his mirth. She gives him a fierce glare that’s devoid of any real anger.

In fact, she looks strangely happy to see him, and the hope that had shriveled so painfully over the last week and a half revives.

She stalks closer to the window, and peers up at him with her hands on her hips, studying him with a speculative gaze. Hazel eyes note the champagne flute in his hand, his attire, and beyond him, the company he’s keeping. She grins, amusement etching into her dimples.

Then something catches her interest. His bowtie. She looks at it pointedly, then back at him, and she brings her hands up to her throat and mimics adjusting her own invisible bowtie. She looks quite pleased with herself as she then mimes daintily picking up a champagne flute and taking a sip from the invisible glass, while holding out her pinky finger. All while giving him saucy, haughty glances.

He can’t help the sheepish grin that forms on his face. When her performance concludes, she curtsies and gives him a playful wink before indicating with a jerk of her head for him to come follow her.

He groans.

He’s trapped, unable to leave until Snoke does, so he taps his watching, holding it up. Daisy makes an exaggerated frowny face, then sticks her tongue out at him in response.

She’s about to turn and walk away when Ben notices one of the restaurant employees has gone outside and is approaching her and her few lingering teammates with a stern expression.

“Miss, I’m going to need you to leave. You’re bothering our customers, and there’s no loitering allowed.”

Daisy’s eyes narrow, and Ben watches, fascinated, to see what she’ll do. Her decision is made quickly enough. She locks eyes with the employee and holds up two fingers in a peace sign.

Huh.

But she’s not done. She slowly inverts her peace sign and making an aggressive jerking motion at the man, who stares at her with round eyes.

Ben’s not sure what that gesture means, but it seems rude enough, and he has a hard time suppressing the urge to laugh.

And with that, Daisy glances back at him with a thoroughly unrepentant grin, and she bolts off into the night, feet thundering down the sidewalk.

+++

As soon as Snoke leaves, Ben sprints the five blocks to the Resistance Bar, arriving a bit disheveled. If he’s going to find her anywhere tonight, it’ll be here. The young, dark-skinned bartender is behind the bar, and when he sees Ben burst through the doorway, panting, he rolls his eyes and points at the ceiling, indicating that Daisy has gone to the rooftop patio.

Ben hears animated voices as he nears the top of the narrow staircase.

“C’mon girl. I know this is hard for you, but you’re making it harder than it has to be.”

“I’m not! I’m just… I’m fine. I know what I’m doing. I can handle myself.”

_Aha. That’s Daisy’s voice. He’d know that accent anywhere._

“Sure, Jan.”

Feeling a rush at hearing Daisy’s voice, Ben steps out onto a rooftop patio that is illuminated by strings of vintage bulbs and furnished with plastic lawn furniture.

A woman he remembers seeing at one of the derby parties starts coughing purposefully, and Daisy startles, then turns around. Regardless, she gifts him with a radiant smile as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had happened in front of the toniest restaurant in Coruscant.

“Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Peanut,” she says quickly, giving her friend a quick glance. “How does someone start at Chez Fancypants and end up _here_ with a bunch of sweaty derby skaters?”

Ben ambles over, hands in his pockets and sits in the creaking plastic lawn chair next to hers.

“Oh, even I get tired of lobster, caviar, and champagne,” he replies, doing his best to sound bored and disaffected.

“I’m sure you were suffering in there with your little bowtie and all those trays of canapes. You clearly needed a rescue squad. It looked fucking _dire_.”

She has _no idea_ , he thinks. That party couldn’t have been more tooth-grindingly dull.

Daisy reaches over to tweak his bowtie, her dimples deepening as she smiles and offers him her tallboy.

“I haven’t got champagne for you, I’m afraid. But this is the next best thing; Miller High Life, the champagne of beers. Have a sip.”

Ben takes the can from her and takes a long drink, and he leans back comfortably, well, relatively comfortably, in the plastic lawn chair, stretching his long legs in front of him with a gusty sigh.

“It’s not as terrible as I anticipated.”

Ben steals another sip of her beer, pursing his lips in consideration as he stares at the golden can.

“You know, it really isn’t bad. I think I could trade in champagne for this. It’d probably look a little odd at cocktail parties and brunch, but it might be worth the risk.”

Daisy steals back the can and takes a sip, her eyes glinting at him.

“It works well enough for brunch, I assure you. A little orange juice, and voila, a manmosa.”

Ben has a vision, just then, of his mother, dressed in her favorite cream-colored linen suit, sitting on the back patio overlooking her private beach in the Hamptons, pouring herself a wine glass full of Miller High Life and orange juice. Impeccable. Ben somehow manages to hold back a laugh.

“Damn, you’re classy,” he sighs, closing his eyes as if he can’t imagine a creature more divine or elegant than this sweaty, bedraggled young woman chugging beer on a hot night.

She bursts out laughing, her grin lighting up the night sky like fireworks.

“Might be the first time anyone’s ever called me the c-word before.”

“That’s not true! I call you a cunt every day, and twice on Sundays!” Fister yells from across the patio, apparently eavesdropping.

“Shove it, you twat!” Daisy shouts back. A loud cackle is the response.

Ben reaches for Daisy’s beer and takes another sip before passing it back to her. “Is there a bout this weekend?”

“Yeah, in Hosnia. Their team is full of psychopaths, so this might be the last beer I ever drink. I fully anticipate that my arse will be smashed into a thousand pieces by the end of the first half.”

Ben makes a tutting noise.

“I hope nothing terrible happens to your ass. It’s my favorite part of you.”

“Not my winning smile?” She cheeses hard at him, but Ben shakes his head, his face solemn.

“Definitely not. It’s your ass.”

Daisy gives his shin a swift kick and laughs as Ben kicks back playfully.

Still laughing, Daisy cuts him a teasing glance and asks, “What were you doing at Chez Fancypants tonight? Besides looking ridiculous in a bowtie amongst a bunch of aging yacht twats?”

“Flashing a little glitz at our clients to let them know we care,” he lifts his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug.

“What kind of law? Or clients?” she leans forward, face curious, her bright eyes studying him with interest.

“Corporate law. We protect the business interests of high-profile people and companies. Basically, we make sure there are no blocks to profit.”

When he puts it that way, it doesn’t sound… good. Ben gives her a wry smile. His family had been horrified when he’d accepted the job offer with Snoke, and for good reason, it turns out.

Daisy considers his words for a second, and she leans forward, cradling her chin in her hand as she looks at him. Her eyes are sparkling in advance of whatever she’s about to say.

“What you’re telling me, is if there were an inspirational movie about salt of the earth people fighting against a large, wicked corporation that only cared about money, _you_ would be the evil lawyer representing the corporation?” she asks, her voice bursting with barely restrained amusement.

He snorts. She’s not wrong.

Ben grins and leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, bringing his face closer to hers.

“Exactly. I’ve disappointed my entire family to join the forces of evil and crush the little guy.”

_Sure, Ben. Play it for laughs, he thinks. But making light of it makes it feel… not irreversible. For once. Like maybe there are still choices to be made. Good choices._

She snorts. Then laughs, covering her mouth, her eyes crinkling with some new joke.

Intrigued, Ben asks, “What’s so funny about that?”

“You’re the bad guy?”

“Allegedly.”

“Did you know that I’m well on my way to becoming a villain?”

Daisy’s cheeks are twitching with the urge to burst into laughter as she leaps wildly from idea to idea, showing no signs of losing speed.

“I figured as much, given the way you terrorize innocent lawyers who stumble into roller derby after parties.”

Daisy rolls her eyes, and she huffs at him with good-humored impatience. “Well, yes, that’s definitely a sign of my evil tendencies, but for your information, I am in the early stages of becoming a mad scientist. I work in a nanotechnology laboratory now, but next year, I’m moving over into mechatronics.”

Laboratory. Lah-bore-uh-tory. Ben rolls that word over in his mind, savoring it. Everything sounds good the way she says it. Ben chews on his lower lip, waiting for her to continue. He’s always felt intellectually competent, but Daisy’s world is outside his scope of knowledge entirely.

“And… that is…”

“Robots,” she says, then lowers her voice for dramatic effect. “Killer robots. My biopic will be called, and you heard it here first, ‘Daisy Chainsaw and the Rise of the Machines.’”

“So I’m a soulless corporate lawyer, and you’re a mad scientist designing killer robots.”

“Exactly.”

She seems strangely pleased with that assessment, then continues, breathlessly, “Now here’s the big question I need to ask you. And I really want you to think about it…”

Ben quirks an eyebrow at her. Daisy dives right in, barely able to keep a straight face.

“Do you think George Jetson fucked Rosie the Robot? And why? And how often? Because he definitely fucked that robot.”

+++

Ben drags his lips over her delicate throat as he simultaneously hitches her legs around his hips, pressing her flat against the storage closet wall.

“ _That fucking bowtie_ ,” she groans, as he rakes his teeth over her clavicle.

Her skin is salty from sweat, and he relishes the earthy tang of her.

When she’d stretched not-so-casually and sighed that she needed to stretch her legs, it hadn’t taken Ben long to catch up to her in the corridor, stumble into the storage closet and shove his hand into her shorts. He’d fingered her until she was wet and pulsing around his fingers, desperate to be fucked.

“Admit it. You love it,” he growls, thrusting his thick cock into her tight, wet cunt roughly, making her gasp.

She’s drenched, and he feels her tighten around him instinctively. She feels perfect. Every time they touch it’s like lightning in his veins, and he knows he’s addicted.

“I can’t believe I’m fucking a guy wearing a bowtie,” she says, closing her eyes and arching into him slightly. His arms hold her steady, and he knows she’s not worried about him dropping her. “It’s so _embarrassing_.”

“Shameful,” he agrees, bucking his hips up into hers again and again as he pumps into her eagerly, reveling in the delicious way her cunt squeezes his cock.

Daisy laughs and tightens her arms around his neck as she moans happily, flushed and panting, “I’ll never be able to show my face in Coruscant again.”

She crosses her ankles together behind his waist, panting and moving with Ben’s vigorous pace, and he smooths his hands over her muscular thighs, committing the sinewy muscle to memory. She’s lean and tough and still so soft and small. A perfect blend of fierce and sexy. Somehow she’s real. And she’s here. And she’s letting him fuck her. Goddamn.

“Love your body,” he grunts, gasping, feeling himself getting closer and closer, and losing himself in the taste, the smell, the touch, and the sound of her. “You feel so good on my cock.”

Daisy shudders slightly, thighs tensing for a moment, and then it’s as if starlight turns supernova. Her tight core begins to convulse around him, squeezing his cock like a vise, making the drag of his thrusts almost impossible, and she cries out.

“Ben! Oh fuck! I…” she moans.

As she continues to undulate against him, his hands clench hard into her thighs, sure to leave marks as he fucks her through her orgasm. When he comes, it’s violent and he sees stars, a powerful thrum of electric pleasure whiting out any coherent thoughts.

“Fuck, Daisy,” he groans, giving a few stuttering pumps before pulling himself out her and gently setting her back down on the floor.

He places a hand placed on her waist to keep her from wobbling and presses his lips to the side of her head, trying to catch his breath before pulling off the condom and discarding it in one of the trash bins next to the brooms and mops. He carefully tucks himself back into his boxers and straightens his clothes. Within the last week and a half, he’s had sex in a sandwich shop bathroom and a bar’s storage closet. It feels like an achievement.

Daisy’s flushed and breathing hard as she wriggles back into her panties and tiny shorts.

“Was that your way of wishing me luck in Hosnia?” she asks with a breathy laugh.

“Better than a good luck kiss.”

She snorts at that thought, giving him a slightly sardonic look over her shoulder as she adjusts her clothing, what little there is, and smooths her messy hair. She walks over to Ben and reaches up, and for a split second, he thinks she’s going to drag his mouth down to hers for a kiss. Instead, she tugs at his bowtie, unknotting it, then pulling the length of satiny fabric through his shirt collar.

He tries to mask his disappointment.

“I want your bowtie for good luck.”

“Am I going to get that back?”

Daisy shakes her head slowly, a cheeky smile crossing her face. She’s sporting the world’s smuggest little dimples, and Ben fights the urge to kiss her. He can’t resist touching her for long. His hands find their way to her hips, and he pulls her closer so he can look down into her mischievous hazel eyes.

“Let me give you a ride home. I’d offer you Bojangles, but I can still smell the grease on you from whatever you ate earlier.”

Her expression is fond, but she gives his arm a smack, then idly tucks the bowtie into her sports bra. Finders keepers is fully implied from the tilt of her chin.

“Thanks, but I’m riding with Shock. And besides, I barely know you. What if this is some evil plot?” her voice is teasing, but he can feel her pulling away from him.

“Barely know—Daisy, are you serious?”

He groans. Every time they’ve met, they’ve ended up fucking. A car ride home should be the least of her concerns. The sheer _stubbornness_ of this woman, he grumbles inwardly. He’d be better off negotiating with one of the granite monuments in front of the statehouse. Those have more give.

She grins.

“I’m quite serious. What if this is all part of your long game to stalk me back to my place, break in, and jizz on my toothbrush?”

“That is weirdly specific,” he replies, baffled, and he runs a hand through his thick hair in exasperation.

Daisy shrugs helplessly as she throws her hands up in the air.

She goes to the storage closet door and opens it for him. He pauses, reaching to cover her hand, so much smaller than his own, and she stills, as if startled. Ben wonders, vaguely, if this is new terrain for her.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Holding your hand.”

She stares at his hand covering her own, turning her own slowly so their palms meet and her fingers curl around his. Her thumb strokes lightly against his. Almost tenderly, even.

Ben’s breath catches, and he hums for a second, considering, thinking. With his free hand, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, then a business card with elegant, gold-embossed lettering. He holds it out to her between two thick fingers, and she takes it curiously, then bites her lip as if to prevent a laugh.

“Your business card?”

She studies it, eyes moving over the small print, then looks back up at him, quirking an eyebrow at him, apparently mystified by this development.

“It has my personal cell and my work number. Either is fine to contact me, and you can always leave a message with my assistant if I can’t pick up.”

Ben tries to keep his voice even. As if this is all perfectly ordinary. As if he’s in the habit of gently explaining to women that yes, calling each other is a thing people do when they want to spend time with one another.

But Daisy laughs as she looks up at him, tucking the card into her sports bra. “You’re giving me carte blanche to booty call you? And your poor assistant will have to take down memos whenever I call to let you know I’m DTF?”

DTF? Ben groans as he wonders about the bizarre calculus that led her to that conclusion. He does want her to call him for sex, but he also wants to feed her dinner and listen to her laugh. More than anything in the universe, he wants to bask in the sunshine of her existence and forget his reality.

With a long-suffering sigh, Ben squeezes her hand and holds onto it, giving her a purposeful look as they step out into the narrow corridor and walk back to the patio.

He’s starting to suspect she doesn’t understand that he’s interested. Truly interested.

_How can she not get it?_

“Daisy, you--”

But Ben is interrupted by the loud cheers and catcalls of Daisy’s roller derby teammates, who have, apparently, been waiting for their return. They hadn’t been as sneaky as they’d thought, apparently, when they’d disappeared.

“Ow ow! Daaaaaisy’s gettin’ that D!”

“Hey, Lawyer Ben! Did you give her your pro bono?”

Hyena-like cackles fill the bar, and Daisy must realize she’s still holding his hand because she drops it like it’s suddenly searing her flesh. A fiery wave of embarrassment scorches Ben from the tips of his ears to his toes. Daisy gives him her own red-faced, sheepish smile, then turns back to her team, raising her voice.

“Piss off, the lot of you!” she shouts at her team, only earning more amused laughter from them.

“Never! Where’d you do it? The storage closet? Poe’s going to be big mad about that!”

Daisy snorts, waving a hand dismissively, retorting, “He shouldn’t leave it unlocked. And besides, Finn and Poe have shagged in there, and we all know it.”

A male voice comes from behind them, filled with amusement.

“The difference is, Queeniepie, that I _own this bar_.”

Ben and Daisy turn around slowly to face her coach, groaning in unison.

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck_.

Ben hasn’t felt this cornered since his mother discovered his stash of dirty magazines when he was in middle school.

Poe eyes them, crossing his arms over his chest. The man is clearly relishing this moment.

“Ah. Ben the Lawyer.”

Ben looks at Daisy. She shakes her head as if there’s no help for any of this. Her expression suggests she’s surrendering to fate on this occasion.

“You are welcome here any time during business hours, but please keep in mind that the storage closet is for employees only. Can you do that for me, buddy?”

This might be worse than his mother finding those magazines, Ben thinks wildly. At least then, there hadn’t been an audience. Just a painful one-on-one conversation about “healthy sexuality” that a 13-year-old boy does not wish to have with his mother.

“Yes. Got it.”

Poe turns to Daisy, the grin spreading across his face. He’s enjoying this way too much.

“Queeniepie, you’re going to drag so many tires on Sunday you’ll need someone to pull you around in a wagon afterwards. I don’t care how late the team gets in from Hosnia.”

“Fuck,” she mutters darkly.

They stand awkwardly for a moment under Poe’s scrutiny, until Poe laughs again and walks past them to flop down next to another of Rey’s teammates and launch into an animated story.

They both sigh, then laugh.

Ben nervously rubs at the back of his neck looking at Daisy with a wry grin.

“I haven’t been scolded like that in 20 years. And that was by my mother.”

“Poe thinks he can catch up on all the parenting I didn’t have as a kid,” she replies with a laugh.

When Ben quirks an eyebrow, Daisy’s voice is casual as she adds, “Oh, I didn’t tell you. I was raised by wolves. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“So.”

“So, I have depositions in the morning, and I have to go. But you’ll consider calling me?”

Daisy’s dimples somehow deepen as she gives him a broad, toothy smile. Ben feels a little taller, her smile charging him like a battery.

“A booty call with an evil corporate lawyer? Sounds like a good time to me.”

And immediately after that, she winds up her arm and gives him a hearty smack on the ass.

“One for the road, Mr. Peanut.”

“Ow!”

Ben leaves the Resistance Bar rubbing his ass, a hopeful grin stretching across his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The odds of a roller derby team’s website being up-to-date? Not good, Bob.
> 
> Goodness, Hux wants to hang out with Ben and see how he met Daisy Chainsaw. Could this lead to Ginger-Rose action? MAYBE.
> 
> Rey gave the restaurant employee the two-fingered salute/V-sign. It basically means “fuck you” or “piss off” and is common in the UK, but not so much the US. 
> 
> Rey: I am a well-adjusted person who can handle an adult relationship.  
> Rose:  
> 
> 
> BFF: Best Friends Forever. And if you were ever a 12-year-old girl, you know the stakes of a Best Friends necklace exchange. BeFri was the HBIC and stends was, well… not. 
> 
> Manmosa: Miller High Life + Orange Juice. It’s better than you think.
> 
> Shout out to the Toothbrush Army. Practice good dental hygiene, baby whores.
> 
> DTF: Down to fuck
> 
> Yes, everyone knows who Ben is. Gossip travels lightning-fast in a roller derby league. And apparently, the whole team has figured something out that Rey hasn’t. When it comes to emotions, she’s legitimately in “bless your heart” territory.
> 
> Also, it is my head canon that Leia gives Ben the sex talk. I will always write this into my stories, and it’s never not funny to me.
> 
> [JunkyardJediTrash on Twitter](https://twitter.com/junkyard_jedi)  
> [Fireball, Bojangles, and Hot Derby Nights - Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1GpMHL9x5rMW6F1axv0jt6)


	5. Ingenuity and sharp objects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two POVs for the price of one. Ben receives a summons. Rey has a wardrobe malfunction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://ibb.co/TbHdbxm)

“Any messages while I was out?” Ben asks gruffly as he rifles through a stack of folders on his assistant’s desk.

Lunch had run long with an overly talkative client, and the walk from downtown had been miserably hot in his suit, and he’s already out of patience for the day. And Snoke keeps demanding status updates on every goddamn thing, with each query carrying a barely veiled threat.

His assistant hands him a slip of paper, unable to keep a knowing smirk off her face. Ben narrows his eyes at her, not expecting this sudden flare of attitude. Ordinarily, Dori is crisp and professional, never betraying any mood, whether it be good or foul. She’s as impassive as he is. It’s been a good working relationship, frankly.

“Yes, a Daisy Chainsaw called for you. Ms. Chainsaw says she is DTF at 3 p.m., and she left these GPS coordinates.”

Yes! Ben’s heart leaps excitedly, and an unrestrained smile spreads across his face that he quickly tries to quash.

And then he meets his assistant’s amused and inquisitive eyes, peeking up at him from her bifocals, and he realizes something with a drumbeat of thought banging in his mind.

She knows.

_Oh shit_.

Ben glowers and attempts to keep his voice as neutral as possible, as if this is any other day. Nothing unusual here. And the 50-year-old woman certainly doesn’t know what DTF means. Of course not. She couldn’t. He’d had to google it, himself, after all.

“Thank you, Dori. Can you reschedule my afternoon appointments?”

“Of course, Mr. Solo. Have fun,” she sing-songs.

Shit.

Well. So she knows. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Ben vaguely wonders how long it’s going to take for this information to get back to Hux.

+++

The GPS coordinates lead him back to his own apartment building, where Daisy is lingering on the sidewalk in jeans and a gray shirt that hugs her lithe body, and a canvas bag full of books is slung over her shoulder. He feels a thrum of enjoyment just looking at her, and his feet quicken on the sidewalk.

Daisy’s body language changes when she sees him, straightening up and… is she swaggering? Oh yes. She’s swaggering, fully proud of herself.

“Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Peanut! What a coincidence!”

“Thanks to you, I had to promise my assistant a $500 gift card so she wouldn’t inform the office gossip mill I was leaving early because a strangely-named woman called to announce she was DTF,” he tells her, voice rippling with equal parts of annoyance and amusement.

Daisy holds back a laugh, and she doesn’t look particularly troubled. “Perhaps you need a more loyal assistant if she’s so eager to extort you.”

“Or perhaps you could leave more discreet messages?” Ben gives her a distinct glare, arching his eyebrows at her.

Daisy looks startled, her confidence fading as she flushes, then responds with a helpless look as if to ask how on earth she was supposed to know better, and Ben groans. He suddenly realizes he should have anticipated this. She’s all crackling wit, and he has no doubt she’s terrifyingly smart, but she speaks so quickly there’s no possibility she’s processing everything before it flies out of her mouth. It’s not humanly possible.

“Come on,” he laughs, wrapping an arm around her waist as he keys them into his building and up the flight of stairs leading to his apartment. His mind gallops ahead to the possibilities. Bed? Kitchen? Couch? Floor?

As soon as his apartment door closes behind them, Daisy slings her bag to the floor and begins to strip, sliding her shirt and thin bralette over her head without a trace of self-consciousness. In a hurry, as always, with quick, neat-handed movements.

Ben grins at her, appreciating the sight of her pert, rosy-nippled breasts, and her apparent enthusiasm, and he eagerly shucks off his suit jacket and loosens his tie. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your fine ass today?”

Daisy’s wriggling out of her skinny jeans and underwear, pushing them down her legs quickly as she answers.

“Thermodynamics lecture got canceled, and I figured you might want to check on my arse and see what’s left of it after the Hosnia bout. You seemed concerned last week that it might come to some harm,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if he already should have guessed.

“You’re right. Come here.”

Ben removes the rest of his clothing like his life depends on it before grabbing her hand and tugging her into his body for a tight hug. And just like that, the iron claw of tension and anger from his shitty workday unclamps from his soul. _Peace_. Ben inhales the scent of her clean hair as he slides his hands down the sides of her body, smiling as she shivers under his touch. Making a satisfied noise, his hands slip further to cup her ass.

He squeezes assessingly, tracing a circle around each firm cheek, then palpating a little more until he gives a nod of approval.

“Yep. Still there. Good condition, too. I’m very relieved.”

She laughs into his chest, reaching to squeeze his ass as well, before eyeing him with a mischievous glint.

“You know, I thought your arse was rather flat when I first saw it, but I’ve come to appreciate it. Your excellent man-tits were too distracting for me to give it a proper study initially,” she says, dancing clever fingers over his pecs. Ben’s suddenly glad for every minute he spends in the gym if she’s going to be so approving.

“I’d like to get a better look now, in fact.” Her voice is teasing, promises and laughter tangling together in her tone.

She pulls out of Ben’s embrace, circling him, her fingertips trailing slowly around his torso. When she’s behind him, she traces her fingers over the small of his back, and Ben tries to remember to breathe. And when her hands grasp more firmly at his hips, and her breath exhales warmly on the swell of his ass, he closes his eyes and groans as his cock twitches and begins to harden.

_Yes, please._

And then she lightly bites his ass cheek.

“Hey!”

Daisy, lightning quick, nips the other cheek and laughs, wrapping her arms around him from behind and fully pressing her body into his. “Sorry, not sorry. I had to taste your pancakes.”

He swats at her, swinging big arms, and she laughs again, nipping at the backs of his shoulders, holding him tightly until a devious hand reaches down to grasp his cock, and Ben makes an unintelligible sound as his ability to hold a thought in his head momentarily evaporates.

Her body coyly rubs against his, little tits pressing into his back as she teases her fingers along his shaft, then strokes him until he’s achingly erect, precum dripping from his cockhead. When she circles her thumb around the head and strokes down, down to brush against his heavy balls, Ben feels his resolve shatter.

He wants her. Now.

He turns in her arms suddenly, haphazardly picking her up and lumbering into the living area and depositing her on the leather couch. There’s a mad scramble as Ben curses, then runs, frantic and naked, to his bedroom to retrieve a condom, then sprints back into the living room, lunging onto the couch as she gasps and laughs.

“You’re gonna cru—mmpghsgh” she starts to say as Ben’s body presses into her and his mouth suctions onto her neck.

He nips and kisses, dragging his lips down to her breast where he sucks eagerly at a nipple already tightly pebbled from the cool, conditioned air. His hand slips between her thighs, and he rubs her clit in firm circles with his thumb while fingers play over her delicate pink folds.

“Ah!” she gasps, her body arching and bucking, sensitive to the slightest brush of his thick fingers.

Somehow, as they writhe together, a tangle of hands and wet, sloppy kisses along each other’s jawlines, her fist tangling in his thick hair, nipping love bites and purplish bruises as they grind, Ben rolls on a condom, hitches between her parted thighs and presses home in one, smooth movement. The whimper of pleasure that escapes Daisy vibrates through Ben’s soul.

“Fuck… Daisy… how do you always feel this good?” he moans, glorying in the tight squeeze of her cunt, kissing dangerously close to her mouth, then finding his way back to her jaw and the soft spot under her ear. She’s beautiful. Everything feels so right with her. If she’d only…

“Please… please fuck me,” she pleads, interrupting his thoughts, shifting needily under him, and when she manages to open her clenched eyes, locking onto his gaze, Ben sees a depth of desire, of _want_ , that startles him.

The same want he feels for her. It’s there. He recognizes it.

He slowly rolls his hips, and they both gasp as if in pain.

“Good?” he asks, low in her ear.

“Yes,” she sighs. “Please, Ben. I want—”

“I know.”

Ben gives her what she wants. What he wants. He presses her knee higher and begins to pump into her hungrily, setting a pace that has her crying out, fingers desperately clutching his shoulders, a hand fisting into his hair. She jerks under him with each thrust, their bodies making lewd, wet noises as he drives into her as if there’s something to be proven. Maybe if he can make her come hard enough, she’ll admit what’s there between them, what he saw in her lovely eyes just now.

“Gonna make you come on my cock,” he groans, sucking along the curve of her neck possessively.

Her answering moan tells him she’s close. Her tight cunt flutters around his cock, squeezing him to the point of pain, practically forcing him out of her. But she gasps higher and higher as he thrusts until she tenses as if stunned, then spasms, shaking under him as her release jolts through her like pure energy.

And when her cunt clamps down around him, Ben groans into her neck as he comes, shuddering violently.

After, when they’ve pulled apart with contented expressions and Ben’s touched a light kiss to her temple, when they’ve cleaned up and pulled their clothes back on, Daisy idles in his living room, studying the bare walls, the bare shelves, and the aggressively neutral furnishings. Eventually, she turns to him with a peculiar look on her face. As if there’s a puzzle she’s half-figured out, and she’s afraid to figure the rest.

“How long have you lived here?”

He frowns, filling a glass with water and bringing it to her. “Little over three years, I suppose. Why?”

“You never decorated?”

Ben glances around. “Dragging all my junk down from New York seemed like more trouble than it was worth, so I decided to rent a furnished apartment. None of this is really mine.”

Daisy seems perplexed, running her free hand along the back of the couch as she sips from the water glass before asking, “You didn’t want to feel at home?”

“I work more than 60 hours a week. This is just the place I sleep. It’s convenient. A maid service comes once a week. A laundry service takes care of my clothes. All the utilities are included. I don’t have to worry about anything but work.”

Ben shrugs. He’s always been something of a workaholic, and working for Snoke has consumed him, body, mind, and soul at times. Not having to worry about the details of existence is a gift, as far as he’s concerned. He has scheduled grocery deliveries for the bare necessities he likes to have on hand, and takeout for the random nights he finds himself home for a meal. His needs are met. Mostly.

He supposes, if he were so inclined, he could pack the entirety of his possessions into two suitcases, slide his laptop into his briefcase, and it would be like he’d never lived here. Like the last few years hadn’t happened. He could pack his things within an hour and be gone. Without a trace.

Daisy frowns briefly before a bright smile forces its way across her face.

“But I suppose having someone to pick up after you and do your laundry is rather nice. My roommate and I do our best, but roller derby results in an epic amount of laundry. And once you’ve accidentally washed regular clothes with derby clothes, they never smell right again. It’s a _disaster_.”

When she finishes her glass of water, Daisy runs a distracted hand through her hair after she takes it back to his sink.

Ben trails after her, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Your roommate plays roller derby? I can’t imagine how that works with two derby girls in one house. Is she feral, too?”

Daisy’s shoulders relax, and she turns toward him, her expression animated with affection for her friend.

“No, compared to me she’s Emily Post. She’s been trying her best to civilize me, but she still doesn’t think I’m ready for unsupervised contact with other humans.”

Ben replies with a mirthful tone, “She’s done well. I think you’re relatively functional in society.”

“I’m going to tell Shock that. She may need a shot of tequila to celebrate. No one’s ever called me _relatively_ _functional_ before.” Daisy’s eyes sparkle a little, relishing the phrase.

“How long have you lived with her?”

“More than two years. I got kicked out of the dorms for having a hot plate in my room, so Shock took me in,” she says, then rolls her eyes, huffing at some offensive memory. “It was completely unfair. What was I supposed to do when I got hungry? Not cook myself dinner? Not everyone can afford a fancy meal plan!”

Ben snorts, remembering the long lectures about fire safety he’d endured during his dorm days, which were… ugh. A long fucking time ago. It’s a stark reminder how young she really is. Fierce and smart and funny and sexy and wild and _young_. Not that she seems to mind that he’s old. _Older_ , part of his mind protests. _Not old._

“Dining hall food was always disgusting, anyway. You didn’t miss much.”

“Besides the calories I needed to sustain life,” she sasses, rolling her eyes at him. “I would have gladly eaten shitty food given the opportunity. Instead, I was heating ramen on a hot plate, and my twat roommate called the fire department on me!”

“That seems like an overreaction to a hot plate…”

Daisy looks at her hands, momentarily chagrined, but her eyes blaze with defiance when she looks back up at him. “Well, I did catch my desk on fire. But I got it under control very quickly!”

Ben feels a ripple of laughter escape him as he eyes her, shaking his head. “How’s your cooking now?”

Her face lights up with pride. “Better! With a proper stove and pots and pans, I’ve only had a few malfunctions. Took the Teflon off a couple of skillets, but Shock says that’s perfectly normal when someone’s learning how to cook. Frankly, I feel cookware should be more durable.”

Ben suspects Shock is being kind, trying to make her friend feel better, but he lets Daisy have this one. It’s not like he knows how to do more than scramble eggs, anyway. The talk of food puts something in mind.

“I know it’s early, but if you want to stay, we could maybe grab some dinner?”

Her head pops up, eyes filled with surprise and perhaps even a trace of pleasure.

_Why, why are you always surprised?_

She shakes her head regretfully.

“Dinner sounds lovely, but I have to read about thermo-liquids and go to derby practice. I’ll see you soon, though, yeah?” she says with a little smile. “There’s a derby party next Saturday at the Resistance Bar. Will I see you there?”

“Rather see you sooner,” he grumbles, catching a finger through one of the beltloops on her jeans, tugging her closer to him.

Daisy smiles and leans into him. She’s warm. So warm. Always. Ben steals another opportunity to inhale the scent of her, stroking his hands down her back.

“Can’t promise that. Between the laboratory work and my course load and derby, I barely have time to sleep. You have no idea how time-consuming and stressful it is learning how to design and build killer robots. Plus, I need to find a summer research position, or I’ll be back to waiting tables.”

Ben does his best not to pout.

“Say laboratory again. Please.”

Daisy laughs. “Are you listening to anything I say?”

“Obviously. Laboratory. Say it. I need this.”

“Laaaaboooooraaatoooory,” she drawls for him in her accent, and Ben shivers dramatically, then drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“Alright. I don’t want you to go, but since you honored my request, I won’t stop you.”

Before she grabs her bag and bounds out of his apartment, Daisy surprises him with a tight hug, and Ben is left to laugh and flop on the couch, feeling exhilarated, heartened and a little exhausted. The Daisy effect.

And when he checks his phone, there are a half dozen missed calls from Snoke.

Fuck.

+++

“Queeniepie, you got one more in you?” Poe asks urgently, squatting down in front of Rey during the official timeout.

He looks hopeful. There are two minutes left on the clock, and Coruscant’s in the lead, but it’s close. Rey’s adrenaline surges like fire in her veins, and she locks eyes with Poe. Right now, in this moment, despite an hour of slamming into bodies, pushing through walls of blockers and skating like her ass is on fire, she feels boundless energy. There’s one reason she’s here, after all, and that’s to play derby until they pull the skates off her cold dead body.

“What do you need me to do?”

Poe hands her the star panty, and she tugs it over her helmet in a smooth, practiced motion.

“We’re starting on a power jam. I need you to run it fast and get lead and put some more points on the board. I’ll tell you when to call the jam, but I’m hoping you can run it for the full two minutes. When their jammer gets out of the penalty box, we’re gonna run a fast pack to keep them from scoring. Stay out of the box. Got it?”

“Get lead. Score points. Win game!” Rey shouts as she jumps off the bench, and Shock gives her a searing smack on the ass as they roll out on the track.

“One more jam, then paaaaaaaaaaartaaaaay!” Jacks shouts from the pack of blockers, and everyone, teammate and opponent alike, fist pumps excitedly.

“Make it quick, Daisy, I’m fucking tired!” Fister yells. “Skate like Pro Bono’s waiting for you.”

Rey groans and shoots double birds at Fister in annoyance.

Not that the thought hasn’t crossed her mind. She has spent more than a little time thinking of his bemused smile and the heat in his eyes. _Treat yo’ self, girl_.

Music thumps loudly from the sound system, and the blockers wiggle around, setting up their positions. Rey takes her spot behind the jam line, rolling back and forth in choppy little movements, waiting for the officials to signal.

“Next whistle starts the jam!”

Rey drops slightly, catches Shock’s eye and winks, and she waits, wriggling her fingers just to have something to do while the longest ten seconds known to man passes by.

She quiets her thoughts. The music disappears. The crowd disappears. The only sound is her own heartbeat as she looks through the bodies and down the straightaway.

The whistle shrieks.

Daisy Chainsaw launches herself into the pack.

+++

“Another shot of Fireball for the fucking queeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!” Rey bellows, as she and Shock fight their way through the horde of bodies on the dance floor.

“And a shot for the queen mother!” Shock declares as they finally squeeze through and claim an edge of the bar counter where Finn is pouring drinks and taking cards and cash faster than any human ever has before. A flash of a smile from him, and soon enough, their shots materialize before them.

They clink their glasses together and throw back the burning cinnamon whiskey.

“Alright. So. Have I repaid my debt to you?” Shock asks, laughing.

“I already told you I’m not mad!” Rey insists, then lunges into Shock for a tight hug, knocking into the smaller woman like a cannon ball. “You were only trying to help me.”

“Yes, but now you have to wear _those_ all night. We could have gone home first.”

Shock motions to Rey’s pants. The world’s ugliest pants, perhaps. Orange and purple camouflage print flannel trap the late spring heat of Coruscant, making Rey feel like she is on the verge of combustion.

“Nope. Had to get here as fast as possible. My people need me.”

Spoken with the assurance of royalty. If royalty stunk of derby sweat and were streaked with glitter and sharpie and covered in Velcro scrapes and bruises, that is.

Shock snorts and gives Rey a knowing glance. “Your people? You mean Lawyer Ben might show up.”

Rey fidgets with the drawstring on her ugly pants. There’s no hiding it from Shock. But it’s worth a try.

“I wanted to celebrate the win straight away,” she says with a winning smile, convincing exactly zero people. “The Fireball isn’t going to drink itself, you know.”

“Daisybaby. _Please_ , admit you want more than a hookup with this guy. You’re killing me. You’re probably killing _him_ ,” Shock sighs as Finn puts cups of water in front of them with a wink.

Rey rolls her eyes. This is Finn’s way of telling them to pace themselves. Or rather, hinting that Rey should. Victory parties are always a little more intense, and given the way the bout had ended, Rey is convinced she’s fully within her rights to go hard as a motherfucker tonight.

Rey opens her mouth to deny Shock’s words, but her friend is looking at her with her preternatural way of cutting through the intense tangle of Rey’s twisted relationship logic. Rey gives Shock a mutinous glare.

She thinks of Ben’s eyes, dancing with laughter. His lips, the way they twitch when she makes fun of him. His hands, firm and gentle on her body. She hates how much she likes him. It’s _awful_. He makes her _want_ things.

“Fine. I can’t stop thinking about him. Are you happy now?”

Shock mouths a ‘Hallelujah’ at the ceiling and looks back at Rey after taking a sip of water. “It’s a start. What are you going to do about it?”

Rey makes a distressed noise.

Rey definitely, absolutely, entirely, wholeheartedly, doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. It had felt so right during their booty call last week. But when she’d left, doubt had crept in. It had been wonderful in his arms, laughing with him, but his weird, empty apartment…

“Well, if he shows up tonight, I’ll certainly shag him. Beyond that, I can’t say.” Her tone is huffy, and she crosses her arms over her chest defensively.

“Babydoll. Best friend of mine,” Shock says, finishing her water, “What is holding you back? He looks at you like you’ve got a beacon shining out of your vagina, showing him the way home.”

“His penis _is_ outstanding,” Rey muses. “I give it five stars. The problem is…”

Shock waits. Then waits some more as Rey continues to stare fixedly at the bar counter. Then she kicks Rey in the leg.

“Ow! Now you do owe me another shot! The problem is he lives like he’s got one foot out the door. He doesn’t even have furniture holding him down. He likes things to be _convenient_. He told me so. And you know…” she sighs.

_I’m not convenient._

Shock gives Finn the nod, and two more shots materialize.

“Daisy. You have to talk to him. Like an _adult_. About _feelings_. Using your big words.”

“Sounds made up,” Rey retorts.

But fuck if it isn’t true. Rey curses silently, closing her eyes. She’s been fighting it. Every day. Every minute. Shock eyes her sympathetically.

Bloody hell.

She’d dropped any interest in a steady relationship two years ago after Kira had cheated incessantly and after Jeremy had kept her existence a secret from his friends and family for months before breaking up with her. Neither relationship had been long, but it had soured her on anything more than hookups. And when graduate school started last fall, that was that.

Then came Ben Solo.

She clinks glasses with Shock again and throws back her shot quickly.

“It doesn’t matter. He can’t possibly want to put up with my shit.”

Her lack of filter. Her impulsiveness. Her loudness. Her baggage. Her wildness. Her stubbornness. The more she thinks about it, the safer she feels from having to address anything at all. He’s a sane man. He’ll figure it out.

“You don’t know that. He might be a glutton for punishment! But if you want him, you’re going to have to give him something to work with,” Shock says before she swallows the Fireball and shakes her head at the taste, exhaling after the burn.

“Like my name?”

Shock stares at her, then sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Yes, bitch, tell him your fucking name. And your phone number. Jesus fucking Christ. You need to learn how to do the things adults do in their relationships.”

Rey smiles.

“Besides fucking.”

Rey frowns and Shock laughs.

+++

With all the bodies on the dancefloor, there’s barely an inch to spare. Rey’s squeezed between Fister and Jacks, grinding against them until the music changes, and then she grabs Shock for another dance. Shock’s flushed from dancing and drinking, and as the party rages on, the derby crew is getting louder and handsier and more animated.

“Is the rodeo starting soon?” she shouts over the music, and Shock shrugs, but Fister and Jacks have suddenly disappeared, so that answers her question.

“You are way too drunk to compete,” Shock laughs.

“Maybe alcohol is the key to victory! Fireball improves my balance.”

Ginuwine’s _Pony_ starts playing, and Rey is inspired to bend over, twerking her purple-and-orange camouflaged ass into Shock’s crotch until she pops back up and wriggles against her friend provocatively. She feels good. So good. Loose-limbed from the beer and Fireball she’s consumed. Overwarm from the damned flannel pants, but on nights like this, bout adrenaline lasts forever.

“If I put out, will you get me a beer?” she jokes, and Shock slaps her ass while they both laugh wildly.

Rey presses a kiss to her friend’s cheek, and when the song ends, they hug each other tightly, swaying in each other’s arms.

_Why do I need Ben? I have Shock. We can be cat ladies together. We can adopt a hundred cats and train them to fight crime. The Pussy Palace will become a thing of legend. I don’t need no man…_

But as she distantly hears Poe announce the beginning of the rodeo, Rey feels eyes on her. Warm. Intent. Rippling down her spine, skin prickling on the back of her neck. This happened before, the night in front of that ridiculously expensive restaurant only yacht twats with bleached arseholes go to for dinner.

And when she turns, unable to resist the sensation, there’s Ben, holding up a bit of brick wall with his tall, broad body, wearing that ridiculous suit, and sipping scotch idly.

_Who gave him the right? How dare? I hate how hot he is. Swear to god._

He’s watching with droll amusement, as if this is some dull cocktail party and not a mob of sweaty, screaming derby skaters, college kids, hipsters, exhausted derby widows, and the people who love and/or tolerate them. He’s so much in his own world, she wouldn’t be surprised if someone walked by and offered him a champagne flute from a silver tray.

_Well. No caviar here, Mr. Peanut_.

Rey struggles to keep the open delight from flickering across her face, wanting desperately to seem as aloof as he is, but she can’t. Her heart’s already pounding with the wild urge to run over to him and snatch at his tie and mess up his hair. It’s a desire that runs hot within her, to see his neutral expression crack open into surprise or laughter.

When Shock sees where Rey’s attention has gone, she gives her a purposeful look as if silently asking her to attempt to do any one of the normal, adult things they had discussed. But, realizing that Rey’s going to do whatever she wants anyway, Shock rolls her eyes before going in search of another dance partner.

With a saucy grin, Rey weaves her way through the bodies with feline grace to join Ben at the edge of the room. His calm, heated gaze burns right through her, and as she opens her mouth to greet him, firing herself up to deliver her usual opening barb about his suit, Ben interrupts her, throwing her off her game almost immediately.

“Pants? At an after party?” he snarks, eyeing Rey’s awful joggers.

Oh god.

_Of course, he’s going to call out these ugly-arse pants_. _Why the fuck was I so determined not to change and get here lightning quick? Shit_.

She honors him with an eye roll, burying her cringe under layers of snark.

“Unlike some people, I own more than one outfit,” she informs him briskly, motioning at his suit with her free hand. “I’ve only ever seen you in a suit.”

“You’ve seen me out of the suit,” he offers with a suggestive smile.

Rey fights the urge to lick her chops like a satisfied cat. She gifts him a sardonic, quirked eyebrow instead. 

“A good thing, too, or I’d think it was permanently attached to your body or that perhaps you’re some kind of alien lifeform who’d seen a picture of a human once, and _he’d_ been wearing a suit, and therefore, this is your approximation of how a human male looks.”

“I’m happy to prove my humanity again, given the opportunity.”

She snorts. “Said the alien body snatcher to his unwitting victim.”

Ben’s expression changes, his smile softening into boyishness, the same smile that never fails to make her cant toward him, even as her brain warns her this is not safe terrain.

_Damn Shock for pointing out the obvious. Damn her for making it impossible to ignore the weird feelings. The liking feelings. Lov—NO. We are absolutely NOT having that fucking thought. When the hell did I lose my mind?_

“Tell me--why these pants? Camouflage isn’t really your aesthetic…”

Rey steals his scotch from his hand and helps herself to a sip. She coughs and grimaces immediately. If Fireball has a burn to it, this stuff is harsh and bitter and altogether nasty. Rey continues making exaggerated faces of disgust as she hands the glass back to him.

“For your information, I had an extraordinarily embarrassing wardrobe malfunction during the bout.”

Ben raises his eyebrows with interest. “I have a hard time picturing you embarrassed.”

“It does occasionally happen,” she huffs, leaning against the wall next to him, giving him a doleful glance. “I made it out of the pack after a scoring pass, and I was watching Poe to see if he wanted me to call the jam. I didn’t realize a blocker was about to blind-side me, or that Shock was chasing her down to help. Shock grabbed the back of my shorts to keep me from falling, but all she succeeded in doing was ripping my shorts and yanking down my underwear as I crash-landed and…”

Rey groans at the memory. She’d hit the track _hard_. There aren’t many things that will make her flush, but…

“…you got pantsed?” Ben guffaws, and tries to collect himself, taking a sip.

She exhales a miserable sound, owning the drama.

“Spectacularly pantsed. Rolling around on the track with my naked bum flashing more than a hundred people.”

She screws up her face in distress. Being pantsed was awful enough, but her shorts had ripped so badly she’d had to skate off the track with her underwear exposed. Well. She didn’t join roller derby to be glamorous. Those who did never lasted.

A ripple of mirth shakes from low in Ben’s stomach upward until he gasps and laughs, chest trembling as he wheezes, leaning over to brace his hands on his knees for a moment before standing again and looking at her, rosy amusement on his face.

_Arsehole_ , she thinks fondly. He’s rather enjoying this.

“And you didn’t have backup shorts.”

Every time Shock had ever told her to always bring back-up bout clothes races through her head. _Goddamn it_.

“No. I anticipated the shorts I was wearing would function as intended and cover my arse. Instead, I had to rummage in the lost and found box,” she says motioning at the rumpled joggers.

“These really are the most hideous pants I’ve ever seen. In fact, I think this puts an official moratorium on all suit-related commentary,” Ben teases.

“Absolutely not. This is a temporary fashion setback while your suits are a chronic issue.”

The big problem is that these pants are flannel, and it’s approximately 3,000 degrees in here. She might as well be wrapped in a plastic tarp, she’s sweating so damn much.

Ben tuts, reaching a hand to touch the slightly fuzzy fabric, grazing her hip with a finger. He gives her a glance that contains more than a few suggestive ideas. And she likes all of them.

“Can I buy you a drink? Would that soothe the trauma of having mooned innocent bystanders?”

“Sure, but…”

Rey stares down at the pants with a glare, when it suddenly occurs to her that she could resolve at least one issue. The flannel is miserably hot, and she’s fair certain she’ll die of heatstroke if she doesn’t do something about it.

“Give me a moment to fix something first,” she tells him with a decisive grin, and as Ben watches transfixed, she begins to check her pockets.

After a moment, Rey pulls out her pocketknife with a satisfied smile. Ben jumps back, knocking his elbow into the brick wall and groaning in pain.

“Why do you have a knife?” he asks, alarmed.

“They’re useful! Do you not have one?”

“No!”

Ben gapes at her as if she’s declared her intent to bite the heads off live chickens.

“What are you doing?” he asks, alarmed.

“It’s too hot to be wearing pants,” she explains, sincerely confused as to why he’s not following her bullet train of thought.

“But—”

She squints at him, wondering why he’s not getting it. “Pants can be shorts, Ben. It’s just a matter of ingenuity and sharp objects.”

His mouth drops open, and he looks for a moment like he might try to stop her, but Ben recognizes a lost cause when he can see one. Resignation, astonishment, and morbid fascination pull at the edges of his expression.

Rey proceeds to hold the fabric away from her leg, and without hesitation, she stabs her knife through it and begins to saw away the excess material with single-minded determination. Ben looks around, somewhat wild-eyed, to see if anyone’s noticed, but if they have, no one cares here. …or maybe it’s not the first time Rey has done this. When she gets to the last few inches, Rey rips the cloth the rest of the way, then kicks aside the loose pantleg before starting on the other side.

After a moment, Rey glances up at Ben.

“Does this look even?” she asks, looking at Ben for confirmation, but he only sputters incredulously in response.

_What_?

Considering her technique, the amount of Fireball and beer she’s consumed, her new shorts are surprisingly even, if still woefully ugly. Ben makes an impressed face almost against his will as Rey dances around to celebrate her liberation from the tyranny of pants, apparently 10 pounds lighter and 30 degrees cooler now that she’s not trapped in sweat-soaked flannel pants in a hot bar.

Sweet, merciful relief. Rey sighs beatifically as she shoves her knife back into her pocket.

_Finally. Thank fuck. Should have done this an hour ago. Sheesh._

“That’s so much better. How are you doing? You alright in all that?”

She eyes his suit pants with a thoughtful eye, and Ben starts shaking his head, holding up his hands defensively.

“For the love of god, do not turn my pants into shorts.”

“Are you sure? I feel so much better now, and if you’d let me—”

“No, no. Sweetheart, please,” he wheezes, closing his eyes as he shakes with silent, uncontrollable glee. He’s red-faced and vibrating with the effort to control himself, altogether lost and found and helplessly delighted and bizarrely resigned to his fate. “Please, just… let’s have a drink and get out of here before you pull a knife again.”

Sweetheart?

Rey blinks, dumbfounded.

She mouths the word silently.

_Sweetheart_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ll pick up next time with Ben’s POV. I might spend more time flopping between their perspectives as needed. I missed Rey so much that I wanted to get back in her head again for a little bit! 
> 
> So. How long do you think Ben’s assistant is going to take before she tells everyone Ben is Down-to-Fornicate with Daisy Chainsaw? 
> 
> And yeah, I may have taken the Teflon off a pan once. Shit happens.
> 
> Rose: Rey, behave yourself. You’re scaring away your gentleman caller.  
> Rey: Define “behave.”
> 
> You haven’t lived until you’ve watched a derby teammate hack her pants into shorts with a pocketknife in the middle of a bar. 
> 
> [JunkyardJediTrash on Twitter](https://twitter.com/junkyard_jedi)   
>  [Fireball, Bojangles, and Hot Derby Nights - Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1GpMHL9x5rMW6F1axv0jt6)


	6. Orgasms and snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben’s POV. After the after party. Things are going so well! Progress is made! But what could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://ibb.co/TbHdbxm)  
> 

“I can walk,” she informs him in a shaking fit of giggles as he lumbers through the door of his apartment with her tossed over his shoulder.

For that, Ben swats her ass then gives it a squeeze, making her laugh harder.

“I’m not taking any chances. You’re a flight risk.”

Okay, she’s heavier than she looks, he thinks, grunting slightly as he maneuvers the door closed with a clumsy kick and hauls her into the kitchen. He sets her down gently only the kitchen counter and cages her him, placing his hands on either side of her hips on the granite counter. Ben brings his forehead to hers, and he grins, practically purring his words, his voice deep and rumbling.

“You have something I want.”

She laughs, opening up the white paper bag she’s been clutching since they left Bojangles. Daisy takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of the food and closes her eyes as if thanking the gods for this bounty.

“Whyyyy does nothing smell as good as fried chicken?” she moans happily, diving into the bag to pull out a cardboard container of chicken strips for Ben and her usual chicken biscuit.

He’d even indulged her with an extra order of the bo-tato rounds, sneaking a kiss on the top of her head when she was distracted by the menu. And the near-sexual sounds she makes as she savors the smell of her food is more than worth it, in his estimation.

“You know, you talk a lot of shit about my alleged kinks, but we never talk about yours,” Ben teases, taking the cardboard box from her.

He inhales. She’s not wrong. This is paradise. Greasy, breaded, deep-fried heaven with honey mustard dipping sauce.

“Oh?”

“You have a chicken kink. Poultryphilia.”

“We established that chicken-fucking is against the law in this state.”

“Yes, fucking a live chicken is frowned upon. However, these are deep-fried. I suppose no real harm is done.”

Daisy snorts with laughter and unwraps her chicken biscuit and takes a hearty bite, her eyes rolling in the back of her head like a shark.

“I think I just came,” she groans in pleasure around the biscuit, chewing happily, licking her thumb, and after a swig of tea, grinning at him. “This is dangerous. I might realize that there’s no need for _you_ if this chicken biscuit is that satisfying.”

Ben grins. “Are you just using me for dick and chicken?”

“Could be,” she says with a laugh.

Her face screws up in thought for a moment, and she groans before laughing again.

“What?”

“My head just filled with all sorts of nonsense puns. Cluck n’ fuck. Dickin’ for some chicken. Bock bock for that cock. Tug it for a nugget. Risk it for a biscuit.”

She gives Ben a helpless look. He’s beginning to understand that she’s at the mercy of her brain’s tangled circuitry. Too many synapses firing.

“Just the tip for a chicken strip?” he asks quickly, then grimaces as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

But Daisy laughs, throwing her head back as loud, cackling guffaws escape her. Her whole body vibrates with gleeful giggles, and when she regains a semblance of control, she pulls him closer, and he feels warmed from head to toe.

“Bite,” she commands, apparently delighted with him, holding up her chicken biscuit.

Ben takes a bite and grins, pleased with himself for amusing her, and Daisy resumes eagerly devouring the biscuit, dimples deepening every time she looks at him. _She might actually like me_ , he realizes with a start.

She’s through her food lightning-quick, and Ben offers her bites of his chicken strips, trying to casually ease himself closer to her, until he’s standing between her knees, his hands finding their way to her hips. He looks down at her upturned face, the vivid, cheeky smile, the bright hazel eyes, and the wild amalgamation of her wickedness, mischief, and thoroughly pure-hearted joy makes him yearn towards her. He wants to kiss her so badly. If only—he begins to lean into her, but she laughs suddenly, and he pulls back.

Daisy gives him an almost-apologetic glance but then her eyes take a more wicked turn, and Ben tenses, knowing that look all too well already. She dives into her words brashly, barely keeping her laughter in check.

“You know, I’ve heard some girls have sugar daddies, and I always thought that sounded strange. But you always buy me chicken biscuits. Does that make you my Bojangles Daddy?”

Ben coughs, choking on his own saliva, and Daisy grins devilishly, patting his back and offering him her sweet tea. She swings her legs playfully, clearly impressed with her own wit.

“I swear to god…”

She laughs. “You swear what?”

“I’ll never be able to look at fried chicken without getting hard again.”

He groans as if in pain, but his agony is rewarded when she loops her arms around his neck and gives him a serious look, even as her lips tremble with the effort not to smile.

“C’mon, Bojangles Daddy. I’m ready for my chicken dickin’.”

“…please don’t call me that.”

+++

“I’ve wanted you back in this bed for weeks,” Ben says, crawling aggressively toward her on the bed with heated purpose in his dark whiskey eyes after tossing a foil-wrapped condom next to her. “Bathrooms and storage closets are fine, but this is better.”

_This_ being his king-sized bed.

They’d stripped quickly out of their sweaty clothes, laughing and making clucking noises at each other, and now, she’s bare before him, a kneeling goddess who is looking at him with a great deal of interest, her eyes slightly wicked as they study his body. When her eyes flicker to his proudly erect cock, then back up at his face, he sees her take in a quick breath as if to steady herself, and then she laughs.

“You are ridiculously large. I know I shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but my insides always freeze up when I see you with your clothes off,” she says, teasing him, even as bright, hazel eyes rove his body with anticipation. “Momentary pussy panic.”

He snorts, sitting back on his heels in front of her, unable to keep the grin off his face as Daisy quickly climbs over him and straddles his lap with a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

From the moment Ben wraps his arms around her, pulling the sleek lines of her strong body into his, they revel in the shared heat of sweaty skin, the warmth of her cunt pressing intimately against him and the hardness of his cock against her taut belly.

“You feel amazing in my arms,” Ben growls in a low voice, stroking big hands down her back until he reaches her ass, then cupping it as if it’s the greatest work of art known to man. A word from an art history class he took years ago springs into his head. “Callipygian.”

“What?” she laughs, closing her eyes, practically purring as he touches her.

“It means you have well-shaped buttocks.”

Ben gives her ass a purposeful squeeze and instead of pressing his luck and trying to kiss her soft, pink lips, he kisses her jaw, nipping at the tender spot beneath her ear. When she gives a little gasp, he rocks his hips upward slightly, enjoying the friction against his cock.

Every light touch of her fingertips on the nape of his neck, every brush of her nipples against his chest spurs Ben onward, and he slips a hand between their bodies to rub circles on her clit. He’d craved her, could practically feel softness every time he thought of her since their last encounter.

Daisy’s hips move instinctively, chasing pleasure as her fingers press tight into his shoulders, and when Ben feels her body grow wet with arousal, he strokes a finger along her slit, enjoying the petal-like softness.

“Ben…” she sighs, eyes closed.

Her hands slide down his chest, thumbs circling his nipples before her hands smooth over his chiseled chest. Somehow, with their bodies twining like vines, Ben feels a closeness with her he hasn’t before. It feels…

“What’s the word for excellent man-tits?”

Ben’s laugh quickly turns into a gusty moan as her hands slip lower to find his cock and stroke him firmly as she busies herself by nipping at his jaw.

He’s in heaven. And he wants more. He wants everything with her. 

Ben’s hands knead her ass, and he feels his hips surge upward, seeking, and Daisy, devilishly, nips at his ear before fumbling on the bed to pick up the condom packet and tear it open. His eyes flutter open to watch as she carefully rolls it down his shaft with neat-handed movements, giving her full attention to the task. Just the brush of her fingers on his cock is enough to make him shudder.

“I want your cock inside me,” she whispers heatedly into his ear.

And that’s where he wants it, too.

Ben cups his hands around Daisy’s trim hips, and she poises herself over his cock before pressing down slowly onto his thick cock.

It’s exquisite. The tight squeeze of her, the moan that leaves her throat, and the beatific expression on her lovely face as he fills her. And when he can’t hold back any longer, he thrusts up into her, making them both groan.

“Ben!”

“Damn, you feel amazing.”

Daisy responds with a pleased moan, and her hands tighten on his shoulders.

Ben keeps his arms wrapped around Daisy’s slim body, and like this, their chests pressed together, he begins to pump into her with slow rolls of his hips while she rides, hips undulating until they find a writhing rhythm that suits them both.

“Love your cock,” she moans, throwing her head back. “Harder, Ben.”

His arms’ grip tightens, and holding her hips fast, he begins to drive into her faster, her shouts making every nerve-ending in his body sing in response. He grunts into the curve of her neck, his rough thrusts making her smaller body bounce as she rides him eagerly, and she gives a surprised cry followed by an ecstatic moan as her cunt flutters violently around his cock.

“Fuck, Ben, I’m coming,” she cries, face screwed up with the tension of the rising pleasure erupts then relaxing as she shudders a blissful release.

“God, Daisy… your cunt is perfect,” he groans, his thrusts stuttering roughly.

Ben drives himself closer and closer to the edge until he feels a white-hot pulse of pleasure build in his veins until his vision blurs and his body tenses. The build-up is almost painful, and his body shakes with relief as he comes.

He trembles, after. And in between shaky breaths, he gathers Daisy into his arms, holding her snugly against his chest. Ben kisses her cheek, rocking her slightly, and he makes a few lazy pumps of his hips, groaning happily into her ear, and she laughs a sweet, silvery sound he wants to keep forever.

Ben pulls out of her slowly, regretfully, and they both collapse onto the mattress, sweaty and spent.

“Ben…” she whispers, staring up at the ceiling, breathing hard.

“Hmm?” he manages, closing his eyes.

“I do believe you fucked me senseless.”

They both laugh, and Ben reaches for Daisy’s hand, squeezing it.

+++

They shower together, bumping into each other awkwardly and knocking the bottles off the edge of the tub. Ben jumps every time Daisy hisses in pain and yelps as she hops around under the spray of water until she explains that this is part of the post-bout process of discovering one’s injuries. She has raw patches scraped into her shoulders and arms from Velcro, and she’s missing skin on her toes from running on her toe stops. And of course, fresh bruises on her arms and legs, and knots on her shins, shaped like wheels.

When she’s wrapped in a towel, Ben pats the bathroom counter with a little smile, indicating she should take a seat. That seems to startle her as much as her little yelps in the shower had startled him, and she gives him an odd look.

“C’mon. Let me put something on all these scrapes.”

She eases up onto the counter while Ben goes in search of his first aid supplies. He doesn’t have much, but he has disinfectant spray and band-aids, at least. All the while, he feels her curious, watchful gaze, and when he begins to spritz her skinned toes, she squirms at the initial sting. Ben gives her ankle a squeeze, smiling to himself before he wraps band-aids around each injured toe.

“Gets rough on the track, huh?”

She nods, a faint smile touching her lips.

Honestly, he’s surprised she’s letting him do this. She’s so prickly about kissing. Even endearments. He’d seen the way she’d frozen when he called her sweetheart, the word slipping out of him so easily he’d surprised himself. And Daisy, well, it was as if she’d never heard the word before. Not directed at her, anyway, which strikes him as an odd thought, as he sets aside the box of band-aids.

And as he proceeds to spray the scrapes on her arms and legs and the claw marks left by a skater who clearly needs to trim their nails before the next game, she studies him with quiet fascination.

He hums to himself, availing himself of this opportunity to touch her, letting his fingers trail over her arms, perhaps—no, definitely—taking longer than absolutely necessary.

“I don’t understand,” she says softly, breaking the silence, and slipping her arms around Ben’s neck.

Ben’s heart stops as her eyes flick between his and his lips, as if she’s trying to make a decision. He desperately needs her to make the decision quickly before his heart explodes.

“What don’t you understand?”

She shrugs. Then kisses him. She tugs him down to her, curling her fingers into his thick hair, and with the scarcest moment of hesitation, she presses her lips to his.

_Oh my god. Finally._

Ben’s hands find their way to her hips, and he leans into the kiss. It’s sweeter than he thought it would be. With Daisy, everything’s been pure lightning energy, but this is… it’s tender. It warms him through the bottoms of his feet, and he no longer feels the coolness of the tile. His fingertips tingle.

_Perfect_.

His lips play over hers, softly nuzzling. They kiss slowly, tentatively, like shy teenagers on her parents’ front porch, eventually pulling apart to breathe. Daisy’s flushed, but she looks at him with a wry little smile.

“Thanks for patching me up.”

“Is that what that was for?” he asks, giving her a playful look, standing back as she hops off the counter.

She considers for a moment, then nods. “Yep.”

She’s _awful_. And he loves her.

+++

When they crawl back into his bed, Daisy swimming in a borrowed tank and boxers, Ben wonders how to convince her to stay with him in the morning. He’ll feed her whatever she wants. More biscuits. More chicken. He’ll buy Miller High Life and orange juice and make her a manmosa. Anything to keep this wild creature close.

A yawn creeps up on him, and Ben struggles to stifle it. It’s late. Hours and hours past when he’s usually asleep, but he has Daisy with him, and he knows there’s a chance that if he closes his eyes, she’ll be gone by the time he opens them. So he fibs. Buys himself some time.

“I’m still wired. You wanna watch something?”

She nods, fussing about and plumping the pillows on the bed while Ben grabs the remote and turns on HGTV. Property Brothers. As always.

“This is your selection? I knew you were an old man, but this is ridiculous,” she teases, lunging for the remote, but Ben keeps it well out of reach.

One of the good things about being refrigerator-sized is his wingspan. But hearing her call him old makes him groan inwardly.

“Firstly, you’re the one aging me prematurely. Secondly, how do you have this much energy? Thirdly, it’s soothing,” he declares. “Except for the part where they find a major structural issue in every episode.”

She snorts, “But they have the same design for every house! Open concept is total rubbish. I don’t want to open my front door and see the toilet.”

“So you are a fan,” Ben retorts slyly.

“At least it’s better than House Hunters. Who are all these artisanal cheese mongers with a million dollars to spend on a house? I had no idea there were so many trust fund babies roaming the streets,” she muses.

Ben chokes a little on that, and Daisy gives him a sidelong glance. Then sighs.

“Ah. Silver spoon lad. You’ve got one, haven’t you?”

It’s not accusatory. It’s not eager. Daisy’s just stating facts.

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, admitting lightly, “I haven’t touched it since I graduated from law school. Since then, I’ve been determined to make it on my own.”

“It’s not a bad thing. Just… a far sight different from how I grew up,” she tells him lightly, shrugging back at him, and she gives him an ironic smile.

Huh. She doesn’t let him linger on that thought. She asks him another question straightaway.

“You never did tell me why you came to Coruscant. You’re as rare a bird as I am in this city.”

Ben snorts and shakes his head. “Family bullshit. I was working in my uncle’s law firm, and my mother seemed keen that I’d take over for him one day, and maybe even follow her into politics.”

His mother the Senator. His uncle, one of the most prominent attorneys in the country. His father, a shipping company owner. The irony is, Ben likes being a lawyer. He relishes the work. But the spotlight… it was always too much. Legacy. Legacy. Legacy. He never wants to hear that word again.

This conversation’s a buzzkill. He shifts awkwardly and is surprised when Daisy leans into him companionably, warmly.

“There was a lot of pressure, and it didn’t leave any room for me to make my own choices. I made a stupid one to join Snoke’s law firm, just to thumb my nose at them. And here I am.”

She hums for a second, thinking it over.

“At least it’s your decision. That’s something. And you don’t have to work for Snoke forever, either.”

“True, but he keeps me so busy, I’ve never had the energy to think about what’s next.”

“Ah. Tired old man,” she teases, leaning her head against Ben’s shoulder. “How old are you, anyway? Forty? Fifty?”

Ben snorts. He knows when he’s being baited.

“Thirty-three. Is that too old for you?” He asks sheepishly. He’s never had an interest in anyone this much younger than him, frankly.

Daisy seems to contemplate the question, reaching up to touch one of his stray silver hairs, then gives him a toothy smile.

“You’re only ten years older than me. That hardly puts you in dirty old man territory. Just let me know if I need to rub you down with Ben-Gay for your arthritis or pick up some Centrum Silver. If you ever go missing, I promise to call in a Silver Alert.”

Ben snorts. “I’m not that old. I can still show the youths a thing or two.”

“The youths!” Daisy squeals gleefully.

She crawls over him until she’s straddling his lap while her face lights up with mirth. She’s already thoroughly entertained with herself. He can always tell. So he braces himself for whatever she’s going to say next.

“I’ve been wondering, though, Mr. Peanut. Did you cry the day the dinosaurs died? Was it really sad?”

She sticks out her lower lip and gives him sad eyes, doing her utmost to look appropriately dismayed by his potential grief.

Ben shakes his head, giving her a mock-stern glare. “You should be nice to me, or I’ll have you cited for elder abuse.”

His hands slide around her waist, and he casually slips his hands under the tank she’s wearing. Her skin is soft under his fingers, and he grins as he sneaks his hands further and further up until they cup her breasts. As he brushes his thumbs over her nipples, making them pebble, Daisy smiles slyly and arches an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe you _are_ a dirty old man.”

“Only one way to find out.”

Ben grins wickedly and bucks her off him, onto her back, making her gasp, surprised as she bounces on the mattress.

“Ravish me, you old coot!” she laughs, wriggling defiantly as he shifts to hover above her and hook his big hands under her knees to guide them apart.

It’s not long before Ben’s peeled off her borrowed shorts, and his head is buried between her muscular thighs. He kisses and nips at soft skin, then licks a long, hot stripe up her center, making her writhe. Ben slurps and sucks, languidly lapping at her like something delicious, _and she is delicious_ , he thinks. He grins smugly as she makes breathy noises and clutches desperately at his shoulders. He cares little how wet and lewd the sounds are, as long as she’s shivering with pleasure at his every touch.

_Orgasms and snacks. Maybe she’ll stay. Maybe that’s what will convince her._

And when her legs are shaking after another particularly violent orgasm, he rolls on a condom and crawls over her, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“More?”

“Yes, Ben. Please, now,” she pants, red-faced and breathing hard. Daisy eagerly curls her legs around his hips.

He touches his lips to hers briefly, and she kisses hungrily in return, her hands sliding over the muscles of his back, tracing the sinews. She’s slippery wet, her cunt dripping after all his attention, and he thrusts into her smoothly, burying himself entirely. She’s soft and warm, and he realizes with a groan that he might not last long. She’s too tight around his cock, and it’s making every inch of him shake.

“Ah!” she cries, arching into him in welcome.

“You feel fucking fantastic,” he breathes in her ear, hitching his arm under her knee and pulling her leg higher so he can drive deeper into her.

He needs her. All of her.

Her hips buck upward, meeting his movements, and soon Ben feels the pleasure building low in his belly. She shifts, her legs opening her more fully, and in the next few strokes, her pussy clenches down around him as she climaxes again with a loud gasp. Ben feels godlike, reveling in the sight of her pink-faced pleasure as her core flutters around him, giving his body a jolt, and he barely makes another two thrusts before he shouts and comes, burying his face in the curve of her neck.

They pant together, and as he slowly pulls out of her, he kisses her cheek.

“Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” she agrees, closing her eyes.

+++

“I’m starting to think you have an agenda,” Daisy murmurs in the dark.

“An agenda?”

He can feel her nod against his chest, and he can picture her lips curled in their usual teasing smile. He rubs his hands up and down her back, enjoying her closeness and warmth under the thick comforter. It’s closer to dawn than not, and the adrenaline driving her after the bout is finally gone, and Ben’s fully ready to collapse and sleep for ten years. Old man, indeed.

“Yeah. What are you up to? Something nefarious, I bet.”

He snorts slightly, yawning against the top of her head and letting his eyes drift closed.

“If I recall, you’re the one who asked for sex and chicken the night we met. Maybe I should ask you what your agenda was.”

She snorts and gives his ass a squeeze. Ben holds back a laugh.

“That _was_ my agenda,” she replies, yawning against his chest.

“And look how that worked out. What’d you call me earlier? A Bojangles Daddy?” he teases. “And for the record, I don’t have an agenda, but you do make my life a lot less boring.”

“You look at me like I’m a wild animal half the time,” she murmurs, curling into him.

“Only half?” he chuckles drowsily.

She asks something else in a soft voice, but Ben drifts off into a cavalcade of snores, his arms blissfully full of his sweet, feral Daisy.

+++

When Ben wakes up in the morning, he rolls over instinctively stretching his arm toward the spot where he’s hoping to find the supple form of Daisy. But again, like before, his hand brushes against an empty mattress.

God. Damn. It.

He grunts in frustration.

Ben had always been a light sleeper until a certain hazel-eyed young woman with a razor wit and shapely ass had started exhausting him once a fortnight. But now, he doesn’t seem to have the capacity to wake up before her, to slow her down, to lure her to stay in his bed all morning.

No, Daisy runs from his bed every morning like she’s being chased by a pack of hyenas.

Ben lumbers out of bed, stiff-legged from perhaps overdoing it a bit by carrying her up a flight of stairs and the rambunctious sex. He pauses to drag the sheets off the mattress, dumping them on the floor and wondering vaguely when this wild girl will begin to need him as much as he’s beginning to need her.

And he does need her. He feels like all things are possible when she’s in his arms.

At least she kissed him.

She’d let him care for her without running away _immediately_.

What a mess. Well, not a mess. More like a… conundrum.

He’s addicted to the pure serotonin of her fierce, fearless approach to life. She’s stormed into his life, bringing a maelstrom of laughter and sex and greasy food, and he never wants to live any other way ever again. She’s sunshine and energy. And without her, it’s just the boring white walls of this furnished apartment and his office at the firm.

Glumly, he meanders over to his fridge and opens it when a flutter of paper catches his eye. He shuts the fridge door quickly.

Daisy’s stuck something to his fridge door. He pulls the paper out from under the magnet.

A roller derby bout flyer.

_Coruscant Roller Derby vs the Takodana Reign of Terror._

_Saturday @ 7 p.m._

The face on the flyer is hers. She looks like she’s going to cut someone a new asshole the way she’s glaring. He’s seen that look before.

It’s the closest she’s ever come to asking him out like a regular person.

Ben grins.

He turns the flyer over, and in a tidy hand, she’s written him a note.

_I hope you can make it to the bout. I’ll leave a ticket for you at the door._

_Your mother called. She asks that you call her back._

_\--Rey_

Oh. Fuck.

In a panic, Ben lunges and grabs his phone off the kitchen counter where he’d left it the night prior. Half a dozen missed calls from his mother. Then roughly a dozen text messages.

Oooooh no. Oh no no no. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Bojangles is going to call in a cease-and-desist order on me one of these days. 
> 
> I do not miss those post-scrimmage/bout showers when the water seared into all my open wounds. STG, every damn time I had to jam or do toe-stop running drills in practice, I'd lose all the skin off my toes. I only got pedicures in the off-season for a reason. 
> 
> What do you think Leia and Rey said to each other? The mind boggles at how that conversation must have gone. And what do you think Leia’s texting Ben after this?
> 
> [JunkyardJediTrash on Twitter](https://twitter.com/junkyard_jedi)
> 
> [Fireball, Bojangles, and Hot Derby Nights - Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1GpMHL9x5rMW6F1axv0jt6)


	7. Zanzibar and killer robots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey’s POV. Crisis-mode and redemption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://ibb.co/TbHdbxm)  
> 

Rey barrels out of the Uber, through the pothole-ridden parking lot, and up into the derelict warehouse her roller derby team calls home like she’s being chased by demons.

“You’re late!” Poe shouts, and she flips him off, racing toward Shock.

“I’m five minutes early!”

“You won’t be on the track on time!” he complains, throwing an orange cone on the track in frustration.

“Do we have to have this conversation every Sunday?” Rey yells at Poe as she nearly tackles Shock to the floor in an effort to give her a hug.

“Shock, I’m in crisis mode. Do you have any idea how I can get a ticket to Zanzibar today?”

“Zanzibar?”

“It’s an emergency,” she whispers urgently. “I’ve really fucked up. Gigantic. Epic. Season 8 of Game of Thrones-level fuck up.”

“Daisy,” Shock says in a warning tone, and Rey groans. “What’d you do, girl? Aw fuck, we don’t have time for this now. Here, take your shit and go get dressed.”

“Shock, you’re a lifesaver!” Rey sighs, giving the shorter woman another tight hug. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably not know where your gear is or have anything to wear at practice,” Shock says with a grin.

That’s the least of it, Rey thinks fondly as she races into the little bathroom at the end of the warehouse and changes out into derby clothes, then gathers her hair in a crooked braid and ties a bandana around her head to help soak up the inevitable buckets of sweat.

She finally makes it out on the track, ten minutes past starting time, but at least it looks like everyone’s late and sluggish today. Only the fresh meat skaters seem eager to start. After watching a bout, they’re always more determined than ever to practice their skate skills and make roster.

Shock rolls alongside her, stretching, folded over at the waist, but glancing up with a wicked grin and canny eyes. Rey sighs. She knows in the depths of her soul that Shock will gleefully drag every goddamn detail out of her. And as far as Rey is concerned, before that happens, she’s going to need a shower and a beer. Or two _._

Poe’s voice cuts her thoughts short, yelling from the center of the track and shaking a clipboard at the roaming, scattered herd of derby skates.

“If the rest of you don’t get your asses on the track in 30 seconds, you’re going to drag tires for the rest of your natural lives, and then I’m going to reanimate your corpses, and you’ll drag them for the rest of your _unnatural_ lives. Is that clear?”

“Oooh, I’m terrified,” Shock groans, stretching her arms over head as she rolls. “You always threaten necromancy, but have you done it? Not once.”

Rey grins at Shock’s taunt, trying to stretch some of the bout soreness out of her hips and back. Admittedly, Rey knows her sore legs have just as much to do with all the dancing at the after party and every glorious minute she’d had Ben Solo between her thighs.

In retrospect, it had been a top-ten all-time terrible decision to crawl away from Ben’s warm, snoring body and respond to Fister’s heckling texts about needing to make attendance for the Takodana bout.

She’d woken up in Ben’s arms, cozier than any moment in her whole stupid life, and when she’d slipped out of bed and looked back at him, he’d been smiling in his sleep, dark hair falling across his forehead. Sure, grunting and making weirdly charming snorty old man noises as his big body rolled over, hands absently searching for her, but looking absolutely blissed out. Just like her sweet, chonky Beebee after too much catnip and extra treats and snuggles.

“Your idle threats have no weight with us, Poe,” Rey says with a broad grin.

“Oh, they don’t, do they?”

Poe gives them a sharp look filled with malevolent glee and blows his whistle to get everyone’s attention.

“Line it up! Just because we won last night, it doesn’t mean we’re resting on our laurels. We’re starting with 27-in-5 today. And then you’re doing it in reverse derby direction. And if I see any of you looking lazy, we’ll do it again. Backwards.”

“On the whistle!”

The whistle blows, sharp and shrill.

_Fuuuuuck_.

+++

Rey dives into her bed, her muscles feeling like they are liquifying inside her skin even after the long Epsom salt bath. She burrows into her blankets and pillows, sighing with exhaustion. It doesn’t take long for Beebee to jump onto her stomach, making her groan at the impact.

“Beebs, lay off the Meow Mix, eh?” she whispers, pulling her cat in close for forehead kisses, and closing her eyes as he settles in to purr contentedly.

After getting home, she’d soaked in the tub with a can of PBR until the water got cold. Thinking about Ben. But just a little. Not too much at all. Only his smile and amused eyes and clever words and gentle hands. How his lips felt. The vibration of his laughter when her head rested on his chest. Just things like that. And certainly not what happened after she left his bed.

Fuck.

The more she thinks about it, the worse it is.

Shit.

Shock must have sensed movement and the brainwaves of a distressed friend, and soon enough, she’s knocking on her bedroom door and stepping inside with a concerned look on her face.

“Daisy? You alright?”

Her courage to tell Shock about the whole boiling vat of stupid she’d dumped all over her existence had evaporated the moment her skates came off, and she’d prattled on about the bout and changed radio stations manically to stave off any questions from her friend.

“Mm’ fine,” she mumbles into her pillow, scruffing her fingers through Beebee’s fur.

The mattress depresses behind her as Shock takes a seat.

“You’re not. You were desperate to run away earlier. What happened?”

“Saw a picture of the lovely beaches in Zanzibar. I’ve decided to sell coconuts for a living.”

“And give up designing your killbots? Likely story,” Shock sasses, reaching over Rey to scritch Beebee’s fuzzy little head.

Rey grumbles and rolls over to face Shock despite Beebee’s decidedly grumpy look at being jostled. “You know how I was supposed to use my words and tell Ben about my feelings?”

Shock’s eyebrows skirt upward. “I vaguely remember scolding you along those lines.” 

“Well, I didn’t. Obviously.”

Shock groans, “How does it feel to be the most obnoxious, emotionally-constipated, stubborn human on the planet?”

“It’s amazing. No accountability, all the fun, and it annoys the shit out of you,” Rey snarks.

But Shock has had enough, and with a solid bounce on the mattress, she gives herself enough momentum to throw herself on top of Rey, sitting on her and keeping her pinned down as she squirms with outrage. Theoretically, Rey could launch Shock across the room, but she’d never dare. Instead, Rey huffs underneath her friend and shoves at her shoulder. Beebee is less than impressed and jumps off the bed, directing a haughty glare at Shock before he exits Rey’s bedroom.

“Get off me!”

“Can you dial down the obnoxiousness? What happened with Ben? I’m not getting off until you tell me.”

“We ate chicken and shagged. Happy?”

“No, because that’s not the whole story. I can see it on your face. You’ve never been able to keep secrets from me, babydoll. I knooow you.”

“Well, if you must know, I, erm, I kissed him,” Rey mumbles, looking decidedly at the ceiling, and nowhere near Shock’s knowing face.

“You finally kissed the man you’ve been fucking for nearly two months. Well, that’s cause for celebration!” Shock says with another one of her dramatic eyerolls, even if her tone is gentle.

“It was a big step, and you know it,” Rey pouts. “He was spraying Bactine on my scrapes, and he was so… I don’t know. It was like he cared about me. I can’t fathom _why_ , save that he rather likes my arse, and maybe thinks I’m a little funny, but I decided maybe it might be alright if I kissed him. Just to… just see what it’s like.”

And it was lovely. His lips had been so soft, and it had been such a gentle moment, and she’d enjoyed it so much, she’d felt embarrassed afterwards, until she’d seen how his dimples had deepened, and his eyes had crinkled as he smiled. He’d been so pleased.

Rey hurries on, hating the tentative pitch of her voice. What she wants to do is bury her face in a textbook and hide until she can carefully parse everything. Thermofluids are easy to understand. This is not.

“And, um, he called me _sweetheart_.”

Her voice drops into a whisper at the last word, and Shock gives Rey a wide-eyed glance that melts into something worried. She knows well that Rey wears her jokes like a suit of armor, wielding her sharp tongue like a sword.

“Please, tell me you didn’t turn it into a joke. Is that what went wrong? You can tell me…”

“I didn’t! I didn’t even know what to say.”

_I was too fucking shocked. I’ve never been anyone’s sweetheart. Not even to my parents._

“So what’d you do, Daisybaby? Because right now, it sounds like you had a nice time,” Shock muses.

“I should have stayed in bed with him,” Rey grumbles, resisting the urge to scream into her pillow.

Yep. Should have stayed tucked under Ben’s arm in his massive bed. Where it was soft. And warm. And where she could listen to his soothing snores and count the freckles and moles on his face and trace his charmingly oversized ears with her fingertips.

“That’s what you didn’t do. So. What happened?”

_Rey fumbles through her purse and finds a rumpled bout flyer and grins, slapping it onto the kitchen counter, before she busies herself making a cup of tea and spreading some strawberry jam on a piece of toast. She’s leaning into his refrigerator, searching for milk, toast in her mouth when Ben’s phone begins to ring. It might be the loudest, most obnoxious ringtone known to humanity, and reflexively, Rey lunges toward it to silence it, dropping the carton of milk, skidding through the spilled milk, then slapping her hand on the phone like an otter._

_Picks it up._

_Fumbles._

_Drops it._

_Picks it up, swearing around the piece of toast dangling from her mouth._

_“Bloody cocksucker!”_

_“Excuse me?”_

_The toast hits the floor. “Fuck!”_

_“BENJAMIN?”_

_Rey lifts the phone to her ear, wincing. “Oh, erm, sorry. Hello?”_

_“Where’s Benjamin? Who are you?” A woman’s voice. Crisp and feminine. Distinctly put-off._

_“He’s in bed. I’m Daisy. Err. Rey. I’m Rey.”_

_“I see.”_

_Clipped silence._

_“Who are you?” Rey blurts out, running to get paper towels to wipe up the spilled milk, clutching the phone to her ear. She’s in it now. Can’t just hang up. Then again…_

_“I’m Benjamin’s mother.”_

_Oh bloody buggary fucking cocksucking wanker bollocks. Shit. This is not a good start. She somehow manages not to chuck the phone across his apartment and flee the scene of the crime._

_“Oh. Um. Hello.”_

_“You said that. Are you his girlfriend?” The voice is rather startled and filled with suspicion._

_Rey curses silently for once. There’s no good way to answer that question._

_“That’s rather personal,” she says, trying to keep her tone light, deflecting the question as best she can. “Would you like my dental records, too?”_

_“It’s a basic question. I think I have a right to know what’s going on in my son’s life,” Ben’s mother says crisply, her sense of entitlement honking like a foghorn in Rey’s ear._

_“I don’t think I should--”_

_She cuts Rey off. “Daisy. Rey. Whatever your name is, put my son on the phone. I’d like to make sure he’s breathing.”_

_“He’s sleeping! You do know it’s 8 a.m. on a Sunday?”_

_Ha. Like hell she’s waking him up. There’s just no way she’s going to look him in the eye and tell him she’s been chatting with his mum. Nope. Not in this century, good lady._

_“Benjamin’s an early riser,” his mother says with authority, as if her knowledge of Ben is absolute, as if the way she understands her son brooks no counter-arguments._

_Rey snorts, then replies, “Well, not today. We went to bed pretty late.”_

_“But you’re not his girlfriend?”_

_The insinuation burns. Fuck. Rey is pinned by the sound of this woman’s voice alone, a trapped insect with her wings getting pulled off. She vaguely understands why Ben Solo would run to Coruscant, if this is the level of early morning intensity one could expect from his family._

_“We’ve never discussed that.”_

_Silence. Hostile silence or astonished silence, she does not know. Ah. Uncomfortable silence. That’s the one._

_“Well. I suppose I’m simply going to have to take your word that my son is alive and well.”_

_“I assure you, he’s quite well. In excellent health, really, but a few shots of Fireball will slow a man down.”_

_“Mmmhmm.” A more unimpressed noise has never been uttered. Not anywhere in this life or the next. “Can you tell Benjamin to call me back? Today, preferably.”_

_“Yes, of course. Um. Nice talking to you,” she says, fumbling clumsily over the words._

_“Right. Goodbye.”_

“Oooh, Rey,” Shock whispers, covering her hand with her mouth, and slowly sliding off Rey’s stomach until she’s seated next to her again.

Rey groans. It must be bad if Shock’s calling her by her real name.

“She definitely hates me. And Ben’s going to think… well, I answered his phone _and_ talked to his mother _and_ it didn’t go well. I think he’s within his rights never to talk to me again. A hattrick of mortal offenses, wouldn’t you say?”

“You didn’t really say anything _too_ embarrassing…”

“The first word she ever heard me say was ‘cocksucker’,” Rey says, groaning. “Did I tell you? Ben’s… well, he’s not like me. Not, um, a stray. Ben’s _fancy_. His mother is likely going to be clutching her pearls, racing over to her jewelry box, and finding twenty more strands of pearls to clutch for good measure.”

“But up until then, things were good?”

“He’s amazing. I just want to tuck up against him and say as much nonsense as I can to make him laugh,” she sighs. “His smile is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Aw, babydoll, you’ve got it bad.” Shock hums slightly in thought. “Tell him your name yet?”

“I put it on the bout flyer I put on his fridge.”

Shock makes a pained, exasperated noise. There’s only so far eyes can roll back into the human head, but if more were an option, Shock’s eyes would disappear altogether.

“Well. It’s a start, I suppose,” Shock sighs. “Anyway. When’s the last time you ate a vegetable? And don’t say you had a Bo-Round. I know it’s potato, but I mean something _green_ , babydoll.”

“Nag, nag, nag,” Rey pouts at Shock. “I may have accidentally consumed a green bean three days ago.”

“Accidentally?”

“Somehow included in my mashed potatoes at Bojangles. I fought the urge to make a complaint to the manager. I’d already eaten the green bean, and the damage was done.”

Shock heaves a tortured sigh. “Well, come on, we’re going to cook lunch, you’re going to eat a vegetable, and I’m going to tell you about Poe singing _Love is a Battlefield_ at the after party last night.”

Oh god. Rey grimaces, and both women laugh.

+++

Rey sits under a tree on the grassy lawn in front of the engineering building, disdainfully licking a plastic spoon clean of chocolate pudding that tastes like sadness and regret. She inevitably buys this pudding from the student center’s snack kiosk at the low point of every semester when stress and misery convince her that this time, maybe this time, it might taste good. It never does.

Midterms are afoot. Ugh. She’s had to miss derby once this week already in favor of studying and preparing her big presentation. Every moment of every day is accounted for.

Wake up and feed Beebee.

Work in lab.

Study, lecture, study.

Derby (if possible).

Shower, study, sleep.

Every. Damn. Day.

And in between, she flails around trying to find the wherewithal to call Ben. Not that she has time to even _think_ of seeing him. She did manage to call his assistant. Once. But he hadn’t been in, and she really hadn’t any time for a DTF sesh, so she’d just blurted, “No message!” and hung up, like the self-assured and confident woman she is. She hadn’t told Shock about that one. Waaaay too embarrassing.

She shoves another spoonful of the terrible chocolate pudding into her mouth, bemoaning her life choices.

Except maybe this one. This very moment.

Because as she sits here, now, under this tree with her container of subpar chocolate pudding, none other than Ben Solo, is striding across the concourse purposefully, dressed divinely in a charcoal gray suit, a leather satchel slung across his shoulder.

In the sea of undergrads, he stands out by virtue of height, breadth of shoulder, and that damned suit. He’s so uniquely handsome, with his angular face and strong nose, and thick, wavy hair, it makes her teeth ache, and Rey can’t keep herself from smiling, even as her stomach clenches nervously, reminding her of how badly she’d bungled things last time.

_Ben has a sense of humor. He must. He’s put up with me this long. Maybe he’ll…_

But before she can call out to him, Ben notices her at the base of the oak tree and stops short on the sidewalk. An obliviously texting undergrad plows into him from behind, causing shouting and raised hands and loud apologies that sound more like accusations. Rey holds back a laugh as she hops to her feet lightly as Ben stalks her way, red-faced and flustered after shouting at the boy.

“Mr. Peanut! What are you doing here without your top hat and monocle? Are you lost?”

He stands in front of her a beat, looking her over with an inscrutable expression, and sighs. Her stomach twists nervously. Her faint thread of optimism snaps and blows away.

“My mother…”

Rey winces. He’s leading with the tough shit.

“…is furious--”

Fuckity fuck. Well. That was to be expected.

Rey scrunches her face, cutting him off from saying another word as fast she can.

“Sorry about that. I swear it was an accident. I was trying to silence your phone and--”

“An accident that you confessed to sleeping with me and that I’d been out late doing shots like a frat boy?” Ben interrupts, sounding exasperated and… amused?

“To be fair, I didn’t say it in those terms. Your mother inferred a lot.”

Ben snorts, closing the distance between them, his expression softening. “My mother is furious _with me_ , I should clarify. She thinks I should tell her everything, not that I do. And as for you, I think she’s stunned. No one ever tells her no, but you did, and you were so ridiculously honest with her, and she’s not used to that in her line of work.”

Well, this isn’t going the way she thought it would. It’s better? Somehow? Fuck it. She’ll take it. She realizes with a strange clarity that she’s missed him. Really missed him.

“What does she do?” Rey asks, shifting awkwardly on her feet.

Ben gives her a curious look. “You don’t know?”

“Well, no… You said she was in politics, but I don’t really follow that…”

“My mother is Leia Organa-Solo, U.S. Senator for New York. She’s held office for 25 years.”

Rey’s brain tumbles over everything she knows about American politics, which could fit neatly inside her skate boot with room to spare. Her world revolves around mathematics, mechanical calibrations, and roller derby. And chicken biscuits. And Beebee.

“Like in Washington, D.C., like when they talk about Congress on the news?”

Ben groans and laughs. “Yeah. The Senate?”

_Oh for fuck’s sake._

“I said _cocksucker_ within hearing range of a U.S. Senator?”

Rey feels her dignity curl up and die. _RIP, dignity. RIP._

“’fraid so, Madame Chainsaw,” Ben says, distinctly amused, holding back laughter.

“I really do need to move to Zanzibar,” she mutters, staring down at the empty container of pudding she’s still clutching.

Ben grins, reaching for her hand, and Rey’s so surprised, she lets him. It’s so warm, she can’t bear to shake loose. “Don’t do that. It’s fine. Except for the part where my mother now calls me every day, demanding to know every detail of my life. That I could do without.”

“Sorry, Mr. Peanut,” she says softly, chagrined. “Maybe we both need to move to Zanzibar.”

“My mother would still find me, or more likely, hire someone to find me. She can barely stand the fact I’m in Coruscant. She thinks if I were closer, we could finally ‘heal’ our relationship,” Ben says with an eye roll and a sarcastic twist of his lips.

“She cares, at least,” Rey points out.

“Yeah. In her way.”

_In her way_ is still more than some people’s parents, Rey muses.

He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it—the set of his lips, the tightening of his jaw, even as he keeps his gaze on her face. After a moment, his face relaxes, and a more mischievous glint enters his eyes.

“I have just one more issue with you.”

Rey groans. She’d been hoping to be free of this pain.

“Your name is Rey? You told my mother before you told me.”

“Ah, well. I was about to leave it on the bout flyer, anyway, so…”

“What’s your last name?” he asks quickly.

Well. She owes him at this point. Rey quirks an eyebrow as she answers. “Niima. Rey Niima.”

And he smiles broadly, toothily, looking boyish despite the severe cut of his suit. “Pleased to meet you, Rey Niima.”

Rey tilts her head nonchalantly, feeling a warmth bloom in her chest under his deeply dimpled smile. “What are you doing on campus, anyway?”

He sighs and shifts his leather satchel, looking for all the world as if he’s just swallowed a sharp object as he replies, “Recruitment at the law school. Snoke sends me every semester to talk to the law students and talk up the firm. We let them intern in the summers, and the ones who impress get offered junior associate positions when they graduate.”

“You don’t seem pleased with this task.”

“Convincing young, bright-eyed law students that Snoke’s firm is a great place to work might be the most morally questionable part of my job, and I just helped an oil company claim pipeline rights through a nature preserve.”

Rey screws up her face and shakes her head. “Is that your marketing pitch to the law students? Because if it is, you need to work on your technique.”

“I try to couch it in friendlier terms. I toss aside the applications of anyone who looks like they might want to change the world for the better. Snoke’s firm is not for them.”

“Benjamin Peanut, you’re sounding awfully grim,” she teases, squeezing his hand. “I bet I could cheer you up. Want to see a killer robot?”

+++

Rey scans Ben into the laboratory with her ID badge and leads him through a room filled with gadgets and computers and rolling whiteboards and finally, with large, dangerous-looking equipment. At the far end of the room, there’s a large stand with a long arm that has reticulated joints and a rather sharp looking end and a system of laser guides and microscopic cameras.

She pauses in front of it and waves her hands with an elegant flourish. Ben frowns, tilting his head, confused.

“This is what I’ve been working on in one of my classes. We’re recalibrating it to be more precise.”

“It looks deadly enough. What does it do?”

“It’s a surgical robot. Surgeons can use a computer or a telemanipulator to control its movements. Because I can design the parts smaller than a human hand, it’s more precise, and the computerization allows for remote surgery. Surgeons no longer have to worry about their hands and wrists getting tired or a random tremble effecting the quality of their slicing and dicing,” Rey explains, looking at the machine proudly.

She’s been working on the manipulator and the reticulation of the gears and even working on the computing piece so it all operates smoothly. It’s hard work. Painstaking work, with more failures than successes, really. But it makes her mind sing when she troubles over the problems and finds workable solutions.

“So not so much killer robots as life-saving robots,” Ben says softly, walking around the machine and eyeing the telemanipulator and the long robotic arm speculatively before looking at her with an impressed smile. “You’re not a super villain in training after all.”

“It’s still a robot that can slice people open. It’s all about intent. Just flip the switch the other way, and it’s a death machine,” she replies with a laugh.

“You’re saving lives.”

Rey shrugs. Her work is necessary. Not special. She can’t fathom spending her time doing anything else, really.

“Killer robots sound sexier, though, don’t you think?” she laughs teasingly, deflecting his comment, following him around the machine and pointing at the different movement mechanisms, explaining as Ben listens carefully, patiently.

His eyes don’t glaze over in boredom once.

“Daisy Chainsaw may like killer robots, but Rey Niima designs healing robots,” his tone is light, but he looks at her as if fascinated.

He’s got a new piece of her to squirrel away to consider later, and Rey can’t keep the blush off her face. Damn it. A certain wryness creeps across her face, unused to the gentle tone he’s using with her.

“Promise you won’t tell anyone? You’ll ruin my mystique.”

Ben laughs, “God forbid anyone know you’re a robotics nerd with a heart of gold.”

“You’ve some nerve, Mr. Peanut, coming into a laboratory full of killer robots and calling me a nerd.”

“I like to live dangerously,” he deadpans.

“Care to see my office?”

+++

“I’m going to make you come on my fingers,” Ben tells her matter-of-factly, after playfully shoving her against her office wall with a happy growl, and Rey feels her heartbeat pulse, anticipation vibrating under her skin.

“Sorry I don’t have time for more,” Rey laughs before indulging in a hungry kiss, savoring those plush lips as she cups his face.

“Killer robots take priority. I understand,” Ben snorts, lowering a big hand to the front of her jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping the fly deftly.

A man who knows his craft, Rey muses. She can appreciate that. More than appreciate that, really.

“Skynet is real, Mr. Peanut. Just wait until I show you the T-1000 I’ve been designing,” she gasps, kissing along his jawline as she curls her fingers in his thick hair.

Ben kisses her warmly, tongue teasing against her lips until she grants him access, and she feels him slip his hand down her panties to rub the pad of his thumb over her clit in slow, hazy circles. Suddenly, she doesn’t trust her legs to hold her up, and Rey slides her hands over his shoulders, holding tight as he traces a single finger down her wet slit and notches it at her entrance.

Rey makes a needy sound, and he pushes in, dipping into her slightly.

“Like this?” he asks.

“You’re such a damn tease,” she groans, tugging at his hair and wriggling impatiently.

“And you’re impatient,” he laughs before reclaiming her lips in a lingering kiss. Rey purrs against his lips, and he pushes his finger fully into her tight cunt.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is _efficient_ ,” she says before shivering, her hands squeezing his shoulders reflexively at the intrusion.

Thoughts begin to evaporate as he touches her, the heat burning through her hot and bright.

She sighs happily at the feel of him, his finger is so much longer and thicker than her own, and Ben moves to kiss along her jawline as he gives a few casual strokes, enjoying the wet slide and the softness of her body. He’s easing her along, savoring her every moan and shiver as he leads her slowly rather than the full-bodied sprints they’ve enjoyed.

But when Rey wriggles, her breathing heavier, Ben gently works her open with a second finger until both can sink into her easily. She’s tight. Her cunt squeezes around him, and she whimpers.

“You feel so sweet on my fingers,” he pants into her ear, relishing the shiver he gets in response, and pressing his thumb harder over her clit in tight circles before pumping his fingers into in smooth strokes, withdrawing almost entirely before plunging back in.

She’d needed this. Badly. And not just _this_. She’d wanted Ben. And his laughter. And his touch. And his soulful eyes.

In no time, Rey’s face is flushed, and she’s exhaling ragged breaths as her hips move eagerly, rolling into his fingers, wanting more. Somehow, he knows what she needs, and it won’t take long to get her there. Ben thrusts his fingers into her more firmly, and she gasps, shifting, letting them stretch and fill her. And with his thumb working her clit, Ben crooks his fingers _just so_ while deep inside her and finds a spot that makes her jerk and spasm and gasp.

Pleasure flames through her veins.

“Fuck, Ben!”

“You like that? Is that good for you?” he groans in her ear, lips nuzzling, working his fingers in rough thrusts until every breath she exhales is a cry, and her hands clutch desperately at her shoulders. Under his ministrations, she shakes just this side of violently, thighs tensing, hips jerking.

“Yes,” she moans. “Just like that.”

And then she’s gone entirely, closing her eyes as her lips part, gasping louder. It’s white hot. And there’s no cinder block wall behind her. No buzzing tracking lighting. No derelict desk from the 80s. There’s only Ben.

Ben sucks a bruise on her collarbone as she crests over her climax, inner muscles clenching hard around his clever fingers, wetness gushing out of her, making her shriek.

And when Rey is panting, spent, she looks up at him, eyes wide, laughing a sparkling, astonished sound.

“Oh my god…”

She sags into his arms, dazed and happy. Breathless.

“You’re so quiet after I make you come,” he teases her with a delighted grin, kissing her sweetly as he gives her a distinctly naughty look. “How nice would you be if I fucked you every day?”

Rey gives his rump a hearty smack, and he smacks back at her leg lightly with his big paw. She snorts at that and hugs him, resting her head against his shoulder briefly. Ben seems surprised, his body stiffening for the barest of seconds, and then he wraps her up in his arms eagerly, as if he never wants to let her go. _If only_. Rey opts not to question it, and she smiles up at him.

“Will you come to my bout?” She can’t keep the hopeful lilt out of her voice. “I’ve set aside my comp ticket for you.”

“Fuck yeah. I need to see Daisy Chainsaw destroy the opposition. I bet you have a whole cheering section,” Ben enthuses, kissing her forehead.

She flushes. She decidedly does _not_. She hopes he doesn’t notice.

“You’re just hoping I’ll get pantsed again, so you can see my bum.”

Ben snorts. “I’ve already seen your bum. But now that you mention it… I wouldn’t mind seeing it again. And again. And again. It might be my favorite thing in the whole world.”

He gives her ass a firm squeeze, and they grin stupidly at each other.

Shit. She fucking loves this guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until you’ve left a sweat angel on a floor, you don’t know true joy. 
> 
> I can’t emphasize enough how common it is for derby skaters to only call each other by their derby names, even outside a derby setting. I have derby friends I’ve known for a decade, and I’ve never called them by their legal name. …I probably never will. 
> 
> Rose/Shock: Vegetables.  
> Rey/Daisy: I don’t know her.
> 
> Also, Rey in love is a DISASTER. Bless. Her. Heart.
> 
> [JunkyardJediTrash on Twitter](https://twitter.com/junkyard_jedi)   
>  [Fireball, Bojangles, and Hot Derby Nights - Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1GpMHL9x5rMW6F1axv0jt6)


	8. OSHA violations and questionable furniture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://ibb.co/TbHdbxm)

The calls from Snoke keep coming until he can hear the asshole’s voice in his head day and night, waking or sleeping, whispering devious ways to break the opposing counsel’s case. Despite the pressure he and Hux have put on a small farming community’s legal defense team, the farmers are determined to go to trial to prevent the development of their land. That means longer hours ahead, and more time traveling the state to take depositions, and more legal filings to thwart their resistance.

If he’s successful, a dozen farmers will lose their land and their livelihoods.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly before looking at the clock in his office.

_Shit_.

Already past 6.

He’s nowhere near done, considering Snoke’s an unreasonable monster who expects his associates to defy the space-time continuum to bill hundreds of hours.

Fuck Snoke.

Fuck this place.

Ben logs off his computer and changes out of his suit into jeans and a polo shirt. Unfortunately, as he hits the elevator bank, fussing with his phone to order an Uber, he hears a sardonic voice.

“Leaving early, Solo?”

Ugh.

Hux.

Apparently, he’s been hanging out with the specific goal of ambushing him. Ben doesn’t know whether to feel sorry for the pasty ginger for what seems to be a total lack of his own personal life or to be furious at this invasion of his privacy. Ben much prefers to keep everything in his life in separate, tidy boxes, just as he’s done his whole life.

Prying questions are certainly no way to get on his good side.

“As I like to say, Hux, none of your goddamn business.”

Hux raises a knowing eyebrow. “You’re off to see Daisy Chainsaw, aren’t you?”

Ben glares and jabs his finger against the elevator button again, mentally cursing the piece of shit elevator for always being slow when he wants to get the fuck out of the office.

“And what if I told you to fuck off?”

“And what if I told you Dori has been talking to my assistant? I know you’re going to a roller derby bout tonight.”

Ben briefly contemplates murder but glumly rules it out before stalking into the elevator. Hux slides in after him, looking smug as hell. Ben resists the urge to beat the shit out of him and instead looks at the floor of the elevator clenching and unclenching his jaw in absolute frustration.

“You’re not invited,” Ben chokes out finally, striding out of the elevator as soon as it opens in the lobby.

“Of course not, but I’m going with you, anyway,” he says with more confidence than he has any right to. And when he assesses the darkness in Ben’s expression, he shrugs blithely. “Chill out, Solo. I’ll stay away from you and Miss Chainsaw.”

Smarmy asshole.

Ben gives Hux a thunderous look that silences the man, but when the Uber arrives, he sighs and motions for Hux to get in.

Goddamn it.

+++

“What the fuck, Solo? Are you sure she’s not luring you out here to murder you? And now I’m going to die, too,” Hux moans as the Uber winds around the side of Coruscant that is littered with pawn shops, bail bond offices, discount auto parts stores, junkyards piled high with scrapped cars, and somewhere in the chaos, a warehouse with an unexpectedly full parking lot.

“Is that a crack house?” Hux asks, incredulous, pointing at a ramshackle residence with a dangerously sagging porch butting up against the warehouse.

“Stop pointing. For all you know, it’s a crack _home_ ,” Ben snarks as they climb out of the car.

At the warehouse door, after Hux buys his ticket, the grinning blue-haired women at the ticket table wink at Ben conspiratorially. He attempts to maintain some semblance of gravitas but fails miserably and flushes.

“We know who you are, Pro Bono. Daisy put you on the comp list. Go on inside.”

Hux mouths at him, _Pro Bono?_

Ben sighs. There’s no way Hux is going to keep his mouth shut at the office. His carefully composed persona is done for. He can only hope Snoke never hears any of this.

Ben shoves Hux toward the crowded bleachers at the edge of the derby track, noting how dirty, stained mattresses line the walls to keep skaters from smashing into the cinderblocks. As they walk, people race to lay tape where track rope is exposed, and the scorekeeping team’s table balances perilously on a platform by the wobbling projection screen, which is parked next to a rat’s nest of electrical cords leading to a speaker system.

This looks exactly like a place where a girl named Daisy Chainsaw would play roller derby, Ben considers, struggling to keep from laughing.

“This place is an OSHA violation,” Hux grumbles, tripping over an electrical cord as they step carefully through a sea of lawn chairs and blankets and cushions and people sprawled on pool floats, including an enormous pink flamingo.

Ben looks eagerly around the warehouse for signs of Rey, but with everyone wearing the same jersey and gear, it’s impossible to find her. No sign of her glorious ass and cheeky smile anywhere. He tries not to pout as he and Hux find a place to sit.

+++

Chaos.

Unmitigated chaos.

Ben tries to keep his mouth closed as he watches, but he can’t. Whistles screech, referees throw bizarre hand signals, the skaters shout as they form packs and slam into one another. Poe is shouting and waving a clipboard. The crowd is many beers deep and howls at the big falls and whenever jammers make it through the pack on scoring passes. Someone keeps ringing a cowbell.

According to the scoreboard, Coruscant Roller Derby is in the lead by a respectable margin.

“That penalty was bullshit!” Hux exclaims, somehow having intuited the strategy of the game, its rules, and seemingly whether a girl who had administered the people’s elbow to another skater was truly at fault.

“Yeah!” Ben agrees with enthusiasm, even if he has no idea what Hux’s point is.

At any rate, it doesn’t matter, because from the moment Daisy Chainsaw rolled out on the track during the team intros, wearing tiny black shorts and jaunty blue knee socks, any coherent thoughts in Ben’s head self-destructed. Her shorts display a tiny hint of butt cheek and watching her wiggle unself-consciously to the loud bout music on the sidelines while she waits her turn to play is making his evening a goddamn success.

Every move, every wriggle of that lush ass is permanently etched into his brain.

Ben coughs, trying to get himself to focus.

Daisy is utterly dazzling, all lean, muscular lines in her tight uniform, and her glittery makeup sparkles as she laughs and sets up behind the jammer line. She rolls back and forth with barely restrained adrenaline, dancing to the music until the timekeeper shouts, “Five seconds!”

Daisy drops into a crouch, waggling her perfect, round little ass as she eyes the pack with a predatory smile that sends a frisson of electricity down Ben’s spine. And when the whistle blows, she roars like an angry panther and lunges into the pack, all brutality and grace.

She’s terrifying.

And it’s so goddamn hot.

Ben watches every hit she gives, every hit she _takes_. She slams, full-bodied, into one skater after another, wrecking her way through the pack with furious energy. The sheer physicality astonishes him. He knows how strong she is, he’s felt the lean muscles of her body, but this is beyond his imagining.

She fucking deserves those chicken biscuits.

_Fuck_.

He’ll buy her two.

When she emerges at the front of the pack, a snarl on her lovely face, Ben realizes he’s not breathing, but then he’s on his feet, pumping his fist in the air until the people behind him grumble that he’s blocking their view. Ben hunkers back down but still watches Daisy circle the track, long legs carrying her quickly back to the pack, where she does it all again, hitting the opposing team’s wall like an attack missile.

“Your girl skates like Attila the Hun wearing a jetpack,” Hux muses.

Ben grins with pride, and Hux is apparently so baffled by the expression, he leans away in horror.

“Is this what it takes to make your dour ass happy? Amateur sports in a building that should be condemned? Fucking weirdo,” Hux mutters without malice, turning back to the game.

+++

When the game ends, the crowd rushes the track, Ben along with them after leaving Hux lost in his wake. He contemplates throwing Rey over his shoulder and carrying her hot little ass out of there as soon as he finds her. They could get some Bojangles, and he’ll keep her in his bed forever and smack and bite her round little ass. Genius-level plan, really.

But when the grinning skaters go by on their victory lap, slapping hands with the excited derby fans, there is no Daisy Chainsaw.

Ben frets, looking around the crowded warehouse where people are already industriously breaking down the tangle of electrical cords, folding the bleachers back, and picking up all the scattered beer cans. Even the fans are helping clean, laughing as they take quick breaks to pose for photos with the sweaty derby skaters.

Ben finally spies a familiar face and approaches the tall blonde.

“Um, hey. Where’s Daisy?”

Fister looks up from her clipboard with an annoyed glare at the interruption and jerks her thumb over her shoulder.

“She’s with Shock and the EMTs.”

Shit.

He never even saw her go down. Whenever she’d been on the track, she’d looked like a warrior goddess, never once faltering.

Ben mumbles his thanks and feels a ribbon of concern unravel in his stomach as he pushes through bodies to the far wall, to a small area behind the skate benches and penalty box, where Rey is grimacing as Shock pulls the skates from her feet. EMTs are busily strapping an ice pack to her grossly swollen knee.

“Ow! Fuck, that hurts,” she yelps, jerking away from the EMTs and Shock, only for Shock to smack her leg to get her to hold still.

“Well, it’s probably going to for a few days, babydoll,” Shock says with an epic eyeroll. “I’m telling you right now, if I see your ass at the after party, I’m going to have Poe bench you for the next game.”

“It only hurts because you’re yanking on it,” Rey complains.

“It hurts because it’s the size of a goddamn grapefruit, and if you don’t let the swelling go down, I’m going to make you go to the ER with me.”

Rey grumbles some more as the exasperated EMTs finish their work.

“What happened?” Ben finally interrupts, standing awkwardly at the edge of the group. 

At the sound of his voice, Rey’s head bobs up, wide-eyed with surprise and an open relief that makes his heart ache.

_She really thought I would miss this?_

“Ben!” she exclaims, and he hurries to her side, hovering over her with a nervous frown. “You came! I didn’t see you during intros, and I thought…”

Her words drift off after that, and she reddens.

Before either of them can say anything else, Shock gives him a shrewd look, then glances sidelong at Rey, cutting in quickly, “I don’t think we’ve properly met, Lawyer Ben. I’m Shock.”

He laughs a little and holds his hand out, sincerely pleased to finally talk to Rey’s friend and roommate. Ben more than suspects that being in Shock’s good graces can only help his cause with Rey.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Ben Solo. Also known as Pro Bono.”

Shock gives his hand a brief shake, rosy amusement coloring her round face, then begins throwing Rey’s gear into a bag for her, considering her words for a moment.

“Can you do something for me?”

“Uh, sure,” he agrees, glancing at Rey’s increasingly alarmed face, shifting on his feet awkwardly.

“Take her home. No after party. She needs to rest, ice, compress, and elevate. You got that? She’s not going to listen to me, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you’re sensible, even if you’re… whatever you are… with this damn mess of a human,” Shock says with a sneaky grin while Rey mutters some inarticulate noises of outrage.

Well. Shock’s on to them, it seems. Then again, his interest in Rey is turning out to be the worst-kept secret in Coruscant.

Ben tries to hide his red face behind a big hand, and he chokes back a laugh. Shock, apparently satisfied with her work, winks at Ben and flounces off, leaving him alone with a stewing, embarrassed Rey. He crouches next to her to get a look at her miserably swollen knee, then peeks a small smile up at her face.

“That doesn’t look good. Sure you don’t need to see a doc tonight?”

“Shock says they wouldn’t do anything except send me home to rest and take ibuprofren.”

Figures. Ben’s ready to chuck her into an MRI right now to see what’s wrong, but he supposes that’ll have to wait.

“I never saw you fall.”

Rey groans with embarrassment, “It didn’t happen during a jam. I tripped over a skate tool someone left on the floor, and my kneepad slid down. My knee hit the concrete.”

Ben winces. That sounds… not great. He covers her hand with his and leans in closer, smiling when he feels her smaller fingers curl around his and squeeze.

“I can’t believe some of the hits you took and kept going. You’re a _tank_.”

Rey gives him an electric smile capable of powering an entire city, with no trace of her cool, fierce Daisy Chainsaw expression.

“A tank who’s going to be too sore to function in the morning. Did you see #78? Her ass is solid concrete. I think she knocked my internal organs loose,” she tells him with a laugh as he winces. “After a few shots of Fireball I’ll be fine. Just take me to the after party. I’ll fix myself right up.”

He looks at her swollen knee and the icepack strapped to her leg, then gives her an incredulous look.

He sighs, shaking his head, “What am I going to do with you?”

She gives him a saucy, promising look that neutralizes coherent thought, and he distinctly feels his blood rushing south.

“You’re going to—"

_Of course_ , Hux chooses this moment to approach and impatiently clear his throat. And when Rey glances at the source or the noise, her eyes widen with immediate recognition.

“Mr. Redenbacher?” she blurts, eyes round with surprise.

Hux snorts back a laugh and extends a hand to her. “Armitage Hux. I work with _Pro Bono_.”

Rey bites her lip to keep from laughing, and she shakes his hand politely. “Daisy Chainsaw. I consort with Pro Bono.”

Hux’s grin is nothing short of shit-eating at her choice of words, and Ben feels the tips of his ears turn hot.

“Hux invited himself,” Ben mutters, giving the redhead a sour glare.

“It was an emergency,” Hux replies with a laugh. “Solo’s been keeping you a secret, and I was starting to doubt your existence. He’s had me half-convinced you were a hallucination after too many lunchtime martinis.”

Rey pales slightly, then forces out a quick laugh. “You could still be hallucinating. Have you been drinking moonshine? I know there are always a few people who bring it to the bouts.”

“Miss Chainsaw, you’re a demon on wheels,” Hux tells Rey, bowing before her gallantly, ignoring Ben entirely. “That wasn’t a hallucination.”

Ben’s grateful when Shock hurries back with Rey’s lime green high-top sneakers and her purse, causing the conversation to halt.

“Daisy, go home. If you turn up at the after party, I’ll skin you alive.”

Hux freezes next to him, suddenly unable to breathe in Shock’s presence for at least ten seconds before he practically shouts to interrupt the conversation, causing all eyes to turn toward the tall ginger in astonishment.

“After party? Where—how—can I come? _Please_?”

+++

“You’re both so mean, ganging up on me like this,” Rey pouts as Ben carries her and her precious bag of Bojangles up the walkway to her little red-brick bungalow.

Given their difference in height, it’s easier to carry her.

Definitely.

Absolutely nothing else would work besides keeping his cranky, feral girl cradled against his chest.

Facts are facts.

“Shock says you can’t be trusted to sit still, and frankly, _sweetheart_ , I think she’s right,” Ben replies with a laugh even as she huffs in annoyance, flushing at the use of his endearment.

He can’t help but grin at her reaction. She’s going to have to get used to the endearments. After all, he’s decided this is for keeps, whether she gets it yet or not.

Before they’d left, Shock had managed to extricate herself from Hux’s animated conversation and rapid questions and pull him aside. She’d jabbed her finger into his chest, her erstwhile friendly expression hardening into menace.

_“A little advice, my dude. If you hurt Daisy, your momma’s gonna cry when she sees what I’ve done to you. Do you understand?”_

Ben saw nothing but calm promise in Shock’s dark brown eyes as she reached up to pat his cheek as he nodded eagerly to show his comprehension of her not-at-all-thinly-veiled threat.

Well.

If Shock’s worried, it means young Miss Chainsaw quite possibly has a feeling. Or two. _For him_. He tries not to smirk in satisfaction. He can live with that knowledge quite contentedly.

He fumbles with Rey’s keys before unlocking her front door and stepping inside to curious meows from a little gray cat and a rather chubby orange and white cat.

“Welcome to the Pussy Palace,” she says with an elegant flourish of her hand.

When she hits the lights, he can see the colorful living room, filled with soft, mismatched furniture, shelves full of plants with cascading, leafy vines and books, and walls lined with framed photographs and art prints. The room is crammed to bursting with signs of life, signs of happiness.

“Wait, what did you call this place?” he finally asks, his brain reeling to catch up.

Rey snickers.

“Two girls. Two cats. Do the math, Mr. Peanut.”

He snorts.

The gray cat gives him a skeptical glare then skitters off from whence it came, but the orange and white cat sits and looks at them expectantly.

“Oh, that’s Beebee, the main man in my life. Could you give him some food while I shower?”

Ben’s vaguely surprised she doesn’t want to eat first, but he deposits her at the door of her tiny bathroom so she can hobble about her business, and he heads to the kitchen where Beebee is now parked beside his empty food bowl. He gives a plaintive meow, clearly on death’s door.

He fumbles around but finds the box of Meow Mix, and he pours a little into Beebee’s bowl, giving the rotund feline a scritch behind the ears. When he hears the water stop in the bathroom, he pops open the freezer and is pleased and unsurprised to find a variety of ice packs. He waits until he hears her shuffling about, then trails down the hallway with their food and a fresh ice pack.

“In here! I can hear your big feet clomping around,” she calls, and he ducks into her tiny bedroom with a grin.

Her bookshelves overflow with engineering and mathematics textbooks, and he can’t say she so much as has furniture as a carefully assembled assortment of milk crates and colorfully painted wooden planks, artfully assembled.

She’s pulled on a baggy tee shirt, and she’s reclining against some pillows with her bare legs stretched out before her. Even rumpled like this, with wet hair and scrubbed pink after a shower, Ben wants her so badly his bones ache.

“You need to elevate your knee,” Ben mutters instead, shifting pillows around until her leg is propped up, and then lays the icepack across her knee.

“You’re worse than Shock,” she replies, smiling up at him, a flicker of what he’s starting to think might be affection in her hazel eyes. “Come on. Sit with me and eat.”

Ben’s never one to ignore an invitation from Daisy Chainsaw. He kicks his shoes off and climbs into bed next to her. The bed’s much smaller than his, but he supposes that gives him an excuse to cuddle closer to her than is strictly necessary.

“You’re quiet today,” he comments, reaching into the rumpled white paper bag and handing her a chicken biscuit.

Then a second biscuit.

She seems pensive for the briefest of moments, and he wonders if the knee pain has dulled her a little. Given how grossly swollen it is, he doesn’t blame her one bit.

“I’m gravely injured, and all you have to say is I’m not up to my usual level of conversation?” she asks, looking down at her biscuits, shaking her head as if she’d lost where she was. “Two?”

He gives her a little smile, then kisses her cheek quickly.

“The whole time I was watching you play today, I was thinking ‘that’s a girl who deserves two chicken biscuits.’”

“Well, you’re right. I do deserve two,” Rey says with a delighted grin and unwraps her dinner. “Did you enjoy the bout?”

“It was amazing to see Daisy Chainsaw in her natural habitat, destroying her enemies,” he says, “But that warehouse is a little, uh…”

“In the middle of a hellscape and on the verge of collapse? Yes, it is,” she says with a bright laugh. “Don’t worry, it’s safe enough. Poe put in a security system, and it’s a league rule that no one goes there alone.”

Ben frowns at that bit of information, giving Rey a doubtful look that only results in her rolling her eyes.

“Benjamin Solo, don’t make such a face. It’s not half as dodgy as where I grew up. It’s practically Windsor Castle in comparison.”

“Didn’t Windsor burn down?”

“Just part of it, I think,” she says, wrinkling her nose in thought. “Anyway, no matter. I’m quite safe. No need to worry.”

They chew in companionable silence, and Ben watches hungrily as Rey licks crumbs from her fingertips.

He muses on how appalled his mother would be, watching him spread crumbs in bed, licking his fingers, eating greasy fast food on a creaking mattress on a plywood plank, supported by cinderblocks.

“Tell me. Why roller derby?” he asks before shoving the last bit of biscuit into his mouth.

Rey seems to consider the question seriously. Too seriously judging by the mischief-filled look that crosses her face. After a moment, she clears her throat theatrically, gives him her cheekiest smile, and begins to sing like a dementedly joyful Julie Andrews.

_“Mayhem and violence and wanton destruction,_

_Chaos and bruises and bitches in traction,_

_A skate to the crotch will make you scream,_

_These are a few of my favorite thiiiings.”_

By the last line, she’s giggling, and Ben applauds her gallantly.

“That’s it? Unrepentant bloodlust? Give me more pieces of the puzzle, Daisy Chainsaw,” Ben urges, half-jokingly. “I sense there’s more to your story.”

“Do you know what it’s like to grow up afraid?” she asks suddenly, then frowns at herself, looking like she wishes she could shove those words back into the dark corner they’d apparently come from.

Ben’s stomach twists at that question, but he shakes his head. Fear wasn’t part of his experience. Not really. But he won’t pry. She clearly doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Sophomore year, I saw a bout flyer, and I went, and… did you ever see something and realize that if you don’t go after it, you might _die_? Well, that’s how I felt. These women were _fearless_. And no one was telling any of them they were too loud or too aggressive, too this, or too that. So the next day, I turned up at a practice, and Poe and Shock took me on.”

“And the rest is history?” Ben asks.

“They’ve become family,” she says softly. “I could ask either of them for a kidney or to post bail.”

_You could ask me. I’d give you my heart, too._

“Go to jail a lot, huh?” he says, instead.

She snorts. “I’ve never been arrested.”

“A troublemaker like you? You threaten to punch people in the dick, and you pull knives in crowded bars, and you haven’t been arrested?”

“I’m not saying cops have never had a stern discussion with me,” she huffs. “They just haven’t made an arrest.”

Ben snorts.

+++

“Take your clothes off,” she demands, kissing along his jaw and tugging at the waistband of his jeans.

They’d fallen asleep, he knows not when, snoring cozily together, and she’d woken up with considerably more energy. She’d jettisoned the ice pack across the room, declaring her knee thoroughly freezer-burned, and she’d launched herself at him for a fierce kiss.

“Why, you wanna see me naked?”

“Yep,” she mumbles, nipping at his lower lip, making him gasp.

Who’s he to argue?

Ben peels off his shirt and pushes his jeans and boxers to the floor before crawling onto the mattress, ignoring how it groans and shifts precariously. Rey slides out of her tee and panties, and he finds himself stalking over her lean body hungrily, no thoughts in mind but the kisses he brushes over her chest and the nip he gives the underside of a tiny breast, making her gasp.

“It has been way too long, sweetheart,” he growls, hovering over her, nosing along her jawline with distinct interest.

He nips at the soft skin behind her ear, and he huffs in amusement as he feels her stiffen at the endearment. He presses a determinedly slow, wet kiss against the curve of her neck.

He’ll wear her down. Eventually.

“Want to put me on your calendar, Mr. Peanut?” she asks sardonically.

Ben pulls back, considering the thread of an idea he’d had at the bout, and he somehow manages not to grin as the idea forms into something more solid.

“If that’s what it takes. I need to see your sweet ass more often.”

Rey gives him an arch look, only to be startled when grabs her with his big hands and pulls her onto her stomach and across his lap. He can feel her heart beating like a hummingbird’s wings.

“Well, take a look,” she sasses, propping her chin on her hand and wiggling her ass at him teasingly.

“I haven’t been able to look anywhere else all night,” he admits, gliding his hands over her firm ass cheeks, featherlight. “Maybe I’ll take a bite out of you.”

“Cannibalism? Is that your latest kink?” she laughs playfully.

He hides his grin and gives her ass a firm, purposeful squeeze that makes her breath hitch.

Good.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for months.”

Another squeeze, harder this time.

“Every time, you’d scamper off without telling me your name,” Ben says, leaning over her and whispering huskily. “That was bad of you.”

Ben feels her shiver, and she turns her head to meet his molten gaze, the color rising on her face. He can see the curiosity in her face. The need to ask.

“What are you going to do about it?” she asks, her voice measured.

Ben pauses, as if considering, when _he_ knows perfectly well that _she_ knows perfectly well what he wants.

“I think I have to teach you a lesson.”

Rey shifts, and he can tell she’s doing her best to look blasé.

“I guess I have been naughty…” she whispers, and she bites her lip coyly, looking over her shoulder at him.

_Minx_.

Rey meets his eyes steadily and gives him a little nod. A wolfishness he’s never felt before blooms in his chest alongside the tender humor that’s already there.

“So naughty,” he says in quiet agreement, feeling his lips curl in a smile.

He caresses her ass cheek briefly, then brings his hand back before delivering a firm slap to the globe of flesh. His palm is lightning hot, and she gasps. That hot, sweet little sound is enough to make his cock harden.

“Running around in little shorts, making it impossible to think,” he mutters, smacking her ass again.

He looks at her face, and her eyes are closed, her expression somewhere between amused and aroused.

_Same, sweetheart. Same_.

She tells him, haughtily, “I don’t apologize.”

Ben laughs while caressing her butt with his large, gentle hands, “Bad girls never do, Rey.”

He gives each cheek a firm squeeze, signaling further intent.

“You made me chase you.”

_Slap_.

“You make fun of my suits.”

_Slap_.

“You left biscuit crumbs in my bed.”

Rey shouts in a gasped bit of laughter, “I’ll fucking do it again!”

“I know,” he replies, his voice stern before the humor cracks through.

_Slap_.

He breathes hard for a second, letting his hands smooth over her ass lightly. The cheeks are rosy pink and quite warm, and he can’t help but grin at his handiwork. His fingers trail and dance over her soft skin reverently. He’s painfully hard, and he knows she can feel it as she shifts to assess the damage to her ass.

“Spanking’s your kink, Mr. Peanut?” she asks, her voice light, despite her heavy breathing.

He laughs warmly, tenderly, despite the crackling heat between them.

“Your ass is my kink. I’ve been dying to smack it from the moment I met you. And watching you skate tonight sent me right over the edge.”

“Well, the joke’s on you. I’m into it,” she teases, and she slowly turns about to sit up and look at him, a high color on her face.

+++

Options are limited with her aching knee, but Ben wastes no time, gentleman that he is, and slips his head between her thighs to lap at her pink, wet cunt as she tangles her fingers in his thick hair. Apparently, someone really had liked getting her naughty little bum smacked.

“Please, Ben,” she moans, as he licks a hot stripe up between her folds and begins to circle his tongue around her clit.

He sucks and rolls the little nub with the tip of his tongue, until she’s writhing helplessly, whimpering in pleasure. Her arousal is sweet as it trickles out of her, and he licks and nips and relentlessly as her body trembles as something builds within her.

“Fuck! Oh my god!” she shouts, jerking violently as she climaxes, sending the snooping Beebee running from the room, knocking over a stack of her books in the process.

He climbs over her with a self-satisfied grin, slotting his hips between her thighs, cock rock hard as it rests intimately against her core. She’s flushed, her hair disheveled, and she’s still vibrating from the force of her orgasm. He kisses her warmly, and she sighs against his lips, tasting herself on him and curling her good leg around his hips encouragingly.

Ben tastes the sweetness of her lips and with a happy groan pushes himself inside her, feeling flames lick up his spine at the way her tight cunt squeezes him.

“Rey,” he groans, kissing the curve of her neck.

There’s no way he’ll last. Not like this. Not when she’s so wet and tight and soft. Not without—

“Fuck, condom,” he groans, beginning to pull out of her, but Rey’s hands tighten on his back, and he pauses to look down at her.

“I’m on the pill. Clean. S’okay,” she pants, meeting his eyes almost shyly, and Ben nods slowly, leaning in for a slow, warm kiss.

“O-okay. Me, too…” he whispers, pushing himself back in, trying to keep from going cross-eyed at how decadent it feels to be bare inside her, how nice the slide is, how blissful it is the way her tight muscles flutter around him.

Rey arches slightly, urging him on, and Ben quickly finds a pace that suits them both, thrusting hard into her lithe body, enjoying the way her sweet little tits bounce as she gasps happy, shivery noises, her hips meeting his eagerly. He groans into her neck, tasting her sweaty skin as he snaps his hips into hers, chasing his pleasure. When he feels her clench and convulse around his cock, her fingertips pressing into his back as she crests again, he swears he sees stars.

A wave of electric pleasure courses through him, and when his body tenses, his balls tighten briefly before he orgasms. Hard. His hips jerk, and he groans, spilling his hot cum deep inside her, mixing with her wetness, his body lurching as he jolts with each hard spurt until he collapses against her with a groan.

Fuck. Amazing.

Words? None.

He grunts slightly as he pulls out of her, trying to shift because he can feel Rey shaking and panting underneath him from her aftershocks, but as he moves, the whole bed apparatus groans ominously, and suddenly there’s a loud collapse as the plywood platform slides out too far, cinderblocks tilting and tumbling, and he and Rey are skidding down the slope of the mattress onto her floor.

Fortunately, Ben breaks her fall as she crashes on top of him.

“Oh shit!” she gasps, and he assumes the wincing is due to her knee.

“Rey! You okay?” he asks, holding still to make sure nothing else is going to come crashing down before he makes his next move.

She opens her eyes, stunned, then looks back at her bed.

“I guess it wasn’t built for fucking,” she muses, then begins to laugh, shoulders shaking as she exhales helpless snorts and giggles, pressing her face against his shoulder.

He presses a kiss against the top of her head and wonders how he can be so desperately in love. He would have said such a thing was impossible, just a few months ago.

And then he met Daisy Chainsaw.

God help him.

+++

They carefully rebuild her bed before climbing back in, trying not to wobble the structure too much as they tuck under her blankets. They share Rey’s remaining chicken biscuit, trading bites, and companionably watching Beebee putter about her room, pawing at Ben’s clothes and sniffing them with a dubious look on his fuzzy little face before retrieving something from under the bed that Ben immediately recognizes.

“Is that my bowtie?”

Rey’s eyebrows lift innocently. “Well, it’s Beebee’s bowtie now. He’s very much a finders keepers sort of feline.”

“I guess that means I have to buy another.”

“’fraid so, Mr. Peanut,” she says with a laugh, kissing biscuit crumbs off his lips cheerfully.

Ben curls his fingers through her hair, coming through the soft tendrils affectionately and kisses her.

“Will Beebee mind if I sleep here tonight?”

Rey considers it, observing as Beebee chews on the bowtie and cavorts around her room, batting at it enthusiastically.

“Probably. He takes up a shocking amount of bed space.”

Ben laughs, dragging her down under the covers with him after reaching to the night table to switch off the lamp. “So do I. I hope he can learn to share your affections with me.”

“Beebee’s never knocked my bed over. He’s better behaved,” she whispers, tracing a finger along the curve of his ear.

As if summoned, Beebee jumps onto the bed, purring, stalking up on the other side of Rey, as if a little unsure of Ben or his intentions and reserving judgement while keeping guard, all the same.

“Do you really want me to behave?” he teases, kissing her gently.

She cuddles into him, and Ben feels warmed to the soles of his feet, stroking his hands down the delicate notches of her spine.

“Mmm. No.”

He kisses her again, feeling like a thief, stealing sweet moments with this lovely, young woman. Deep in his soul, Ben isn’t entirely sure he deserves her.

“Good. Because I can’t when I’m with you. You bring out a different side of me that I don’t like to let people see.”

A kinder side.

A freer side.

A side of him that isn’t so cautious.

“Oh.”

The word comes as a little breath of air puffed against his neck. He can feel something’s wrong, but he can’t imagine what, and he strokes his fingers through her hair, letting the quiet settle around them.

But she doesn’t say anything else, and he thinks he must be overthinking.

He’s half asleep when Rey blurts out a question, her voice unnaturally hesitant.

“Ben? What exactly did Hux mean when he said you were keeping me secret?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at this ADORABLE chibi I commissioned from [Reylo_LauraBarcali](https://twitter.com/Reylocommissio1)
> 
> [](https://ibb.co/wgzF9CB)
> 
> [JunkyardJediTrash on Twitter](https://twitter.com/junkyard_jedi)
> 
> [Fireball, Bojangles, and Hot Derby Nights - Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1GpMHL9x5rMW6F1axv0jt6)


	9. Char-grilled cheese sandwiches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://ibb.co/TbHdbxm)  
> 

_“What exactly did Hux mean when he said you were keeping me secret?”_

The moment the last word leaves her mouth, Rey deeply regrets her existence. She should rejoin the pack of wolves Shock says raised her.

Rey closes her eyes, heart pounding, as she tries to remain still, hoping desperately that Ben’s already dozed off and on the verge of his comforting, rumbling cavalcade of snores that always lull her to sleep.

Ben grumbles, making an annoyed sound as he rolls over onto his back and rubs his hand across his eyes, “He’s been after me ever since he saw you downtown that day. He’s a relentless, nosy piece of shit.”

So she _is_ a secret. Rey inches away from him slowly, trying to breathe steadily, and not overreact, even as the thought pricks painfully behind her eyes.

_Calm. Be calm_.

Shock has warned her a thousand times about her temper.

“You don’t want people to know about me,” she says, her voice strangely steady, like it’s coming from another dimension where she’s still in control of her feelings.

“No one needs to know more than necessary,” Ben says sleepily, yawning and reaching for her.

Well, fuck being calm. Anger feels right. Anger can protect her.

Rey pushes his arm away firmly, hissing, “Get out of my bed, you fucking wanker.”

Ben startles, eyebrows darting upward in alarm, his eyes opening wide, searching her for signs of a joke that isn’t there.

“Why? What did I do?” he asks, his deep, rumbling voice rising in confusion.

Rey wriggles into a seated position, and Beebee takes umbrage at being disturbed. He bounces past her, springing off Ben’s chest as he leaps heavily to the floor, leaving Ben groaning and clutching his chest from the impact.

“I refuse to be your dirty little secret!” she shouts, pointing at the door. “I’ve been played before, Ben, and I won’t let it happen again!”

He looks stricken.

Rey’s heart is thrumming as she looks for something to throw at him, but everything in reach could do real harm. She doesn’t want him _dead_. She grabs a pillow and wallops him with it.

Ben scrambles out of bed, grabbing at his clothes, and hustling after Beebee as Rey clumsily climbs out of bed and hobbles after him, swinging her pillow like a scythe until he’s corralled into the hallway, despite the fact he’s large enough and strong enough to simply snatch the pillow from her. She feels her heart pulse painfully as she slams her bedroom door shut, with him on the other side.

“Rey, that’s not… come on, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“You bloody well just said no one needs to know about me!”

She will _not_ cry.

She will _not_.

She hears a faint rustling that must be him tugging on his clothes.

“Rey, I can explain,” he says, his voice urgent.

“You need to go.”

The words are sour in her mouth. Ben lets her handfeed him chicken biscuits in bed. He says ridiculous, complimentary things about her arse. These aren’t the actions of a fuckboy. Not in her experience, anyway. But why would he say something like that? It _hurts_.

“I can’t go,” Ben says quietly, maddeningly.

Beebee meows sorrowfully from the other side of the door and thumps his fat little body against the door insistently.

“You _can_.”

Ben snorts back a laugh. Rey debates opening the door to hit him with the pillow again. The _nerve_ of him for being any kind of amused right now.

“I really can’t,” he insists.

“Why not?” she mutters, annoyed.

Ben huffs slightly.

“I only grabbed my shirt. I’m dressed like Winnie the Pooh, and it would lower my Uber rating in a big way.”

She tries to block the mental image of Ben standing in the hallway naked from the waist down.

And fails.

And laughs.

_Damn it_.

Beebee meows again, a little more earnestly, as if he’s speaking for Ben as well, and Rey’s resolve begins to crumble. She knows she can’t leave them in the hallway all night. After all, Shock would have a heart attack if she encountered a pantsless Ben.

“Beebee wants in,” Ben says through the door with a sigh as plaintive as Beebee’s meow. “Can you cut at least one of us a little slack?”

Rey cracks the door and looks down at his shoeless feet, then slowly upward along bare legs and up to his delightfully sizable cock and balls. She looks a little higher and sees he’s got Beebee cradled in his arms, where the little traitor is purring happily. She collects the tubby feline carefully, the heat of anger draining out of her.

“You look a bit ruder in this outfit than Winnie the Pooh.”

Ben reaches his hand through the cracked door to scratch Beebee’s wee fuzzy head, his eyes baleful as he searches her face.

“You’re not a secret, Rey. I’m not hiding you. I don’t know why anyone would—”

_“Don’t,”_ she says, wincing.

She knows perfectly well _why_. She’s a _nobody_.

“Rey, please. I’ll tell the whole damn world about you. You’re smart and beautiful and funny.”

“Then why—” she begins to ask, feeling the fragile shreds of her heart knit back together, ever so slightly.

“Let me explain. And if you don’t like what I say, I’ll put on my pants and go,” he says gently, cautiously stepping forward, testing to see if she’ll allow him into her space again.

Rey waits a beat then backs away from the door so Ben can enter.

It’s only fair. The man bought her two chicken biscuits, after all. She can practically hear Shock reminding her, _loudly_ , of all the nonsense she’s put him through.

She sets Beebee down and dresses quickly in a baggy shirt and underwear before she crawls back into bed and tucks a pillow against herself defensively. Ben tugs on his boxer shorts and climbs into bed beside her tentatively, as if she might attack him with her pillow at any moment.

It’s not outside the realm of possibility, even if she’s not currently feeling hostile. Rey gives him an expectant look, quirking an eyebrow at him, and his returning glance lingers on her face until he looks down at his hands.

“I’m a private person. I’ve been in the spotlight my whole life because of my family, and I fucking _hate_ it.”

Ben’s face hardens at some unspoken memory, and Rey instinctively reaches her hand out to him, fingers creeping across the blanket. When her fingers brush his wrist, he looks surprised, then relieved, like he’s been treading deep water and she’s just thrown him a life preserver.

“My mom’s a US Senator, so there were a lot of expectations. Dress right, look right, attend the right schools, behave a certain way, don’t say anything controversial. Anything I said or did could be misconstrued, and it usually was.”

Ben voice catches ragged with frustration, but Rey squeezes his hand sympathetically.

“My parents protected me as much as they could, but it got harder as I got older. I was in middle school when I saw what people were saying online about my family. And yeah, there was an entire website devoted to mocking my ears,” he says, snorting with annoyance. “Remind me to show you some photos of me as a kid. Ben Solo: The Awkward Years.”

Scratch winning a Nobel prize for building a killer robot. Seeing those photos is now her number one goal.

Rey reaches to brush her fingers against his cheek, then through his hair, pushing it aside to reveal an ear. Oversized. Protruding. And always hidden under his thick, black hair. She decides then that if anyone _ever_ insults his ears in her presence, she’ll cunt punt them into the next century.

“I happen to love your ears. I always want to chew on them,” she tells him teasingly, sincerely, tracing the curve of his ear with a gentle fingertip until she coaxes a ghost of a smile from him.

“Plenty to chew on.”

Ben takes her hand in his, and his eyes are so warm, his expression so yearning, and she knows that with every word, every breath, he’s asking her to trust him. Or at least not to wing him with a pillow again.

Of course, Ben Solo would ruin a perfectly self-righteous rage by being open, honest, and emotionally available.

_Who even does that?_

“I learned how to make myself invisible, even though I’m the size of a ‘fucking refrigerator’ as you put it,” he says with a wry laugh. “I figured it would be easiest if I didn’t give people anything to work with.”

This level of constraint boggles her mind. By the time she darts out of her thermodynamics lecture, she’s vibrating from being silent, and that’s only three hours long. It’s amazing he’s still sane. Well, maybe he isn’t. He’s here, with _her_ , a fearsomely chubby cat snuggled between them, on her makeshift bed, even after she assaulted him with her pillow. Yep, something cracked in him.

His face is fretful as he reaches to brush the hair back from her face, as if he can’t keep his hands from her any longer. And if she leans into his touch, well, it can’t be helped.

“You’re not invisible to me. I saw you right away, Ben Solo,” she says softly.

Ben’s face is suddenly hopeful, wistful, _boyish_ , and he pulls her against his chest suddenly, attack pillow and all, and kisses the side of her head.

“I’m not used to sharing myself with people. But I’ll share with you. If you’ll let me.”

That makes two of them. She flushes slightly, interlacing her fingers through his. This… oh, he _likes_ her. She can see it all over his face, his shining eyes, in the smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. It’s like when he kissed her so sweetly after taking care of her scrapes.

_Oh._

_She doesn’t know what to do with this._

_But she likes it._

_Oh god._

_Shit._

_How the fuck do I do this?_

“I want to know everything about you,” she replies firmly, ignoring the wild panic in her heart. “I know you’re always down for Bojangles, and you snore like a freight train, and you like watching HGTV and eating veg that have been warmed by a girl’s arse.”

“Only your arse, actually,” he cuts in, mimicking her accent playfully.

“But there are bigger arses that could warm veg so much more efficiently.”

“No. Just yours. It’s the only one I like.”

She laughs and kisses his cheek, and she finds it within herself to be a bit chagrined, instead of her usual shameless self.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you. And chasing you. And hitting you with my pillow. Can you forgive me?” she asks in a penitent voice, sounding so much like she did as a child when caught taking apart a toaster to see how it works then not being able to put it back together, or stealing all the batteries from the remote controls to power a science project for school, or using bolt cutters to snip the bike chain of the terrifyingly mean boy in the neighborhood who liked to chase her.

Hopefully, Ben can forgive her more than her foster parents ever did.

Ben cups her face in his big hands, his expression only momentarily solemn before he begins to laugh, warming her soul.

“I’m grateful you didn’t have anything more lethal than a pillow. I know how dangerous you are, Daisy Chainsaw.”

“I’m only dangerous on roller skates,” she says with a soft laugh.

“I don’t think that’s true, Ms. Chainsaw,” Ben teases as he tugs her under the covers with him, his body furnace hot as he curls around her.

That’s another thing she knows about him. How warm he is. How he always seems to want to touch her.

They lay quietly together, Rey listening to the steady drumming of his heartbeat. Her body feels boneless as she relaxes into him, requiring no pretense of maintaining its own space.

“Tell me something nobody knows about you,” Rey whispers, nudging her lips against his cheek.

A smile spreads across his face, and he slips his hand under her shirt to rub her back in slow, warm circles. He considers her question for a moment, then whispers his answer, and she knows it’s just for her.

“I love Chinese food, but only super greasy American-style Chinese food where nothing is a color you’d find in nature.”

It’s so unexpected, his whispered confession, that Rey laughs with the sudden joy of an unexpected but precious gift.

“Where on earth did you pick up an affinity for that? I thought your type only ate caviar and lobsters.”

“My nanny liked it, and she’d take me out after I had a bad day at school. We’d get sweet and sour chicken. But I like it all. Orange chicken. Lemon chicken. Cashew chicken. Sesame chicken. Honey garlic chicken. General Tso’s chicken.”

“You know that’s all just different flavors of chicken nuggets, right?”

“You got a problem with that, Madame Chicken Biscuit?”

She snorts.

“No. But now I want to eat Chinese food with you.”

Ben kisses the top of her head.

“I’d like that.”

+++

Rey furrows her brow as she scribbles furiously in her notebook, flips back a few pages, grabs her textbook and reads a paragraph or two, then returns to her frenzy of writing.

It’s late morning, and Ben’s next to her, overlarge and snoring in her small bed, his feet practically hanging over the end. She’s sent a few curious texts to Shock who hadn’t returned the night before and is now presumably at roller derby practice, she but hasn’t received a reply, which is a little concerning. Shock’s not usually one to stay out all night, and she’s not usually one to ignore a text.

She startles out of her mathematical reverie when a large hand grasps the back of her thigh, sliding forward until it covers a buttcheek, squeezing experimentally.

“This isn’t a bad view to wake up to,” Ben rumbles, somewhat groggily, “even if your feet are in my face.”

She’s laying on her stomach, positioned opposite Ben with her feet on the pillow near his head, tee snagged around her waist, revealing cheeky panties. To emphasize his pleasure, he moves his hand to her other cheek and pats it happily.

“Are you hungry? I fed Beebs and Dio already, but I could put a little Meow Mix out for you, too,” she teases, glancing back at him, wriggling her ass just a little for his amusement.

His morning stubble and mussed hair make him look irresistibly disreputable, and the pillow creases on his face and his soft lips look rather kissable, and perhaps she should crawl over him and show him a bit of Pussy Palace hospitality. Judging by the way his hand is sliding between her thighs, fingers edging tantalizingly close to her cunt, he wouldn’t mind.

“Breakfast can wait. What are you doing?”

His question is oh-so-casual as he traces the seam of her sex through her panties with his index finger, and Rey tosses her notebook and textbook off the bed with dramatic flair. Her robotics work will keep, she decides. There’s no need to waste the presence of a handsome man in her bed. A handsome _Ben_.

“Transformational matrices and differential equations,” she replies, turning over to crawl toward him, feeling that inexplicable urge to ruffle his hair and get him riled up. “Worked a couple things out in my head whilst asleep and have some new ideas to try out in the robotics laboratory tomorrow.”

She drags out her pronunciation of _laboratory_ for him, the way he likes, and she’s rewarded with the sight of his charming, happy dimples.

“You dream about math?” he asks, wonderingly.

Math.

Robots.

Ben Solo.

Chicken biscuits.

Roller skates.

These are the things of dreams, she muses, as she presses her lips to the firm plane of his abdomen, nuzzling the faint trail of hair south of his navel. He’s got a gloriously hard body, but there’s the faintest bit of softness here, and it’s so delicious, she gives his belly a little lick followed by a nip.

“Doesn’t everybody?”

“No,” he exhales.

“Seems strange. What else could there be?” Rey asks with a mischievous glint in her eye as she tugs down his boxers, his thick, beautiful cock, already hard, springing free with an eager bob.

Shock’s right. She does deserve nice things. She just has to be open to them.

“Sometimes I dream of a derby girl with a fantastic ass and a dirty mouth,” he says with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, glancing down at his cock.

Rey laughs at his honesty, giving his thigh a squeeze. “Well, aren’t you filthy first thing in the morning!”

“If you ever stuck around, you’d know this by now,” he retorts, reaching a hand to caress her face, his eyes warming her with their interest. “I’m a dirty, old man, and you’ve been missing out.”

She dances her fingers up his thigh and wraps her hand around the base of his cock, stroking lightly before she wraps her mouth around the ruddy tip, flicking her tongue over the head. Ben shivers and groans, and she tries not to laugh at the sound.

He’s pleasantly musky, warm and hard, and she takes as much of him into her mouth as she can, licking wetly around his shaft. She slides a hand up his chest, and he covers it with his own, holding it over his heart.

She hums slightly around him, sucking, licking, enjoying the bit of saltiness when she nears the tip. When he closes his eyes, sighing, he looks positively beatific. That is, until Beebee bounces into bed with them, meowing inquisitively. Ben gasps and holds up his hands defensively, clearly concerned about cat claws near his more vulnerable parts, and Rey pulls off, giggling as she waves her hands at Beebee to shoo him away.

“Beebs, you pervert! You can’t watch!”

Beebee persists, stepping onto Ben’s chest, looking between the two with curious golden eyes.

“Sorry, bud. We’re not having a three-way with you,” Ben says, laughing as Rey scoops Beebee into her arms and transfers him into the hallway, shutting the door behind him as he lashes his tail in frustration.

“You don’t want two pussies in your bed?” she laughs, easing back into bed carefully.

“I only need yours,” he says, tugging at her shirt playfully. “Take this off. Panties, too.”

“Bossy, bossy, Mr. Peanut,” she teases as she strips and straddles his hips comfortably.

Ben slides his hands over her thighs, pausing to touch her bruised knee, his eyes so warm with concern it’s hard to watch.

“This doesn’t hurt your knee?”

“Not unless you intend to fuck my knee.”

Ben huffs a laugh, and with a bright, cherubic grin, she begins to rub her cunt against him until she’s flushed and wet. And when she sinks down onto his thick cock in a smooth glide, she feels that wonderful stretch, the fullness, the pressure. It’s good. So good, like always.

“You might be right,” she gasps as he grunts slightly, his hips surging upward to meet her in a solid thrust, as if he can’t be deep enough inside her body. “I should have ridden your cock instead of running off.”

Her eyes flutter closed, and she bites her lip as she begins to ride him steadily, rolling her hips hard into his as she begins to find her rhythm as Ben eagerly traces his fingertips over her breasts, her hips, then to her clit to circle and tease. 

“You know I’m right,” Ben huffs, his words ragged, using his free hand to grip her hip as he pumps harder, seeking more, needing more of her.

His thick fingers pinch and roll at her swollen clit, and soon Rey finds herself moaning as a violent shiver ripples through her body like an electric wave that sparks into something near-holy.

“Ah!” she cries, biting her lip, then giving another shout as he bucks his hips up into her roughly.

She rides out her orgasm, bouncing on his throbbing cock, ignoring the ominous groan of the plywood and cinder blocks below them. She’s only cognizant of him, the drag of his thick shaft, the way her body shakes, and then his, as he gasps and comes inside her, hips stuttering with every pulse of his release.

“Fuck, Rey… I… Holy fuck…” he gasps, eyes unfocused as he laughs and affectionately pats her ass before pulling her down onto his chest, cradling her in his arms.

Rey breathes hard, limp and sweaty, and she buries her face in the curve of his neck, inhaling his scent, the traces of his cologne and soap and him. She noses under his ear and kisses along his jaw until she finds his soft, plush lips.

Ben seems happy as he rolls her over, kissing her happily, but he freezes as the bed shifts beneath them, eyes widening in alarm.

“This bed is a death trap.”

“Benjamin Solo, no one has died in this bed!” she laughs, enjoying his consternation.

“Yet. The key word is _yet_.”

“Admittedly, I did not construct it thinking I’d have to share with a behemoth.”

Nor did she construct it. It’s more… stacked. Carefully. She can never tell anyone in the engineering department, or they’ll permanently kick her out for assembling this ridiculous setup.

“That’s no way to speak of Beebee.”

She snorts, smacking his arm as she scolds, “The nerve of you. You can’t just come in here, take over his bed, then make fun of him. It’s unsporting.”

“You need a more stable bed. For Beebee’s sake. Or maybe he needs a bed of his own. You were right that he doesn’t like to share space.

“I could build a platform frame, but I’ll have to source the lumber,” she considers out loud, mentally running the calculations. “Have to source the damn time for it, too. But I am quite sure I could.”

Ben quirks an eyebrow at her with some surprise.

“Why not just—”

Rey shakes her head, gently silencing her sweet silver spoon lad with a kiss. Money doesn’t grow on trees, and neither do mattresses, box springs, and frames.

+++

“Brunch is served!” Rey declares joyfully, setting down two plates on the coffee table, then settling in next to him, enjoying how enormously out of place he looks in her tiny living room full of overstuffed, mismatched furniture with its rainbow of scattered cushions and cozy fleece blankets.

The sofa looks more like a loveseat underneath his sizable arse as he sips his manmosa.

After a second of silence as he stares down at the plates, his mouth dropping open in surprise that she at first imagines to be open awe that will lead to effusive praise, he fails to contain helpless laughter at the sight of the charred, oozing grilled cheese sandwiches she’s made.

“What’s so funny? They’re just a bit extra crispy!” she exclaims, defending the honor of her cooking.

Okay, perhaps the word she’s searching for is blackened, but the burnt-ish bits are always the best part, provided there’s enough cheese to compensate, and Rey has made sure of that. She knows her way around a grilled cheese sandwich, and with the Daisy-proof cast iron skillet Shock gave her, she doesn’t even destroy the pans anymore. Mostly.

“That they are,” he teases, gamely picking up his sandwich and biting into it as if it’s the most delectable thing he’s ever consumed.

Which is a good act because she knows he had Bojangles with her just last night, and nothing, _nothing_ beats that.

Rey picks at her sandwich and lets a melting, stringy bit of cheese fall into her mouth before she takes a big bite, crunching happily. It’s so undeniably cozy here like this with Ben. Even Shock’s shy little Dio keeps poking his wee gray head around the corner to eye the giant man in the living room.

“So how does Benjamin Solo, attorney at law, usually spend his Sundays?”

He groans slightly, rubbing his hand across his face as if he doesn’t want to contemplate the horror just yet.

“Work. The mornings are mine, generally, and I go to the gym in my building or for a run, but then I go into the office. I need to make up for not working late last night.”

“Sorry to keep you from your busy schedule of enabling corporations to murder sea turtles,” she teases, nudging his shoulder.

But Ben only sighs, giving her a forlorn glance, as he mutters, “Someone has to be the bad guy. May as well be me. The pay is good, and I get a lifetime of bad karma, too. Win-win.”

“I would say, ‘if the shoe fits,’ Mr. Peanut, but I don’t know that it does.”

After all, when does a villain ever actually think he’s the villain? The Ben who cradled Beebee in his arms while nagging her to ice her knee this morning doesn’t quite strike her as the rapacious corporate sort.

“I wear whatever shoes will cover my giant feet, even if they’re uncomfortable,” he replies blithely, brushing crumbs off his fingers and reaching for the folded paper towel she’d brought in lieu of a napkin. “What about you?”

“I have derby work. I’m the league’s charity coordinator, so I need to contact the shelter and let them know I’ll bring a check this week. And after that, I need to study. I have an exam this week that’s already making my arsehole clench in terror.”

Ben coughs, and she pats his back heartily until he turns a more normal color.

“Did I upset your delicate sensibilities?” she teases. “Terribly sorry. I never attended finishing school.”

“No, you’re fine,” he laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I just haven’t heard that particular turn of phrase before. It’s, uh, descriptive.”

“I know, I know. I have the soul of a poet,” she sighs dramatically before taking a big, crunchy bite of her burned sandwich. And speaking around the mouthful of charred grilled cheese, she continues, “And the vocabulary of a drunk sailor.”

After their food is eaten, after Ben asks her to show him her plants, making all the appropriately admiring noises, he sighs and reluctantly admits he needs to leave. As he heads to the door to meet his Uber, wearing the pants he lacked the night before, he pauses to kiss her gently.

“There’s one thing I want to clear up before I go.”

That… that has the potential to be bad. Quite bad. And after the hell she gave him last night, it wouldn’t be totally shocking. Rey stiffens nervously and shifts on her feet, and she tries to look unconcerned, even as she mentally tabulates all the nearest exits in case she needs to make a run for it rather than engage.

“What’s that?”

“We _are_ dating. That’s what this is. Just so we’re on the same page.”

“Oh. Okay,” she replies, suddenly feeling out of breath. “Got it. I agree.”

Her heart thrums faster, and she hopes desperately she isn’t flushing bright red. Especially since she would have proceeded for the next five years without using the word “date” in reference to spending time with him, but here he is, just… saying it.

Giving it a label.

Like a weirdo.

A ginormous, gentle, funny, sexy weirdo.

Who likes to label things.

But now she’s standing on shifting ground, off-kilter. She wanted him to be honest about her place in his world, and now all she can do is stare at his lips as he forms more words that threaten to make her bolt nervously from the room.

Like a mantra, she thinks about all viable escape routes. Front door. Back door. Basement door. Windows.

“And I’m going to take you out on proper dates. Well, maybe proper’s the wrong word,” he continues with a grin, apparently not noticing how she’s standing there like a startled meerkat.

So… they’re like… boyfriend and girlfriend? And he’ll promise Shock—in lieu of parents—that he’ll have her home on time? And walk her to the front door and kiss her on the porch? Like in every American teen movie she’d ever seen? That’s real? People do this?

Her soul is _spinning_ at this development.

But, to her relief, she finds an opportunity to reclaim her bearings. Rey smiles brightly up at him, latching on to his joke quickly.

“Definitely the wrong word. I haven’t a fucking clue what _proper_ means. Is it… Swedish?”

“Dutch, actually,” he quips.

“So, pertaining to clogs and tulips and windmills.”

“Exactly. No wooden clogs will be worn on our dates.”

“But what if—”

“Okay. If it’s a sexual fantasy of yours, I’m game to try new things,” he cuts her off, his tone steady with mock-seriousness, even as his eyes glint warmly like the darkest amber.

“You haven’t fucked while wearing wooden clogs? I had no idea you were so sheltered, Ben Solo.”

She keeps her voice light, and she relishes the open amusement on his face. When the Uber driver honks impatiently from the driveway, Ben gives her a toothy grin, dimples etched deep.

“See you soon, Ms. Chainsaw.”

+++

When Shock finally makes it through the front door, harried and dragging derby gear and with the largest, purplest hickey on her neck that Rey has ever seen, she bounds to her feet, knocking her thermodynamics textbook aside, and points at her friend.

“J’accuse!”

“Moi!?” Shock replies, pressing her hand to her chest in faux-concern.

“You didn’t come home last night!”

Shock scoffs. “You really going to call me out on that when you’ve been knocking boots with that wildebeest, abandoning your fur child on the regular? It was my turn, Daisybaby. Mama needed some.”

Rey snorts and retrieves some of the derby gear from Shock and drags it down the hall with her and down into the basement where their washer and dryer are set up.

“Fair enough. Dio’s fed, and he’s been diligently napping all day.”

Shock nods, listening absently as they begin dumping their soggy, sweaty derby pads into the washer, then empty a jug of white vinegar over it to kill the odor, followed by a capful of detergent in an effort to add a thin veneer of something nice-smelling over the funky gear.

“Did your lawyer-man stay over?”

“Indeed. He risked life and limb to experience the pleasures of my boudoir,” she says pertly, winking at her friend. “And Beebee rather likes him.”

She can tell Shock about her little rampage and their developments… later. Later is good, because right now, priority one is discovering who gave Shock that hickey.

“…Did your bed collapse?” Shock asks, with every syllable playfully suggesting that she assumes it did.

Rey shrugs, not making eye contact as she checks the distribution of the gear in the washer before slamming the lid and giving the knobs a crank to start the wash.

Shock crows with laughter. “It fucking did, didn’t it!? I told you that thing wasn’t orgy-proof!”

“I wasn’t having an orgy! Just a regular shag!” she exclaims, as if riding that unrepentant water buffalo’s cock until she sees stars counts as regular, that is. Regular degular.

“Honestly, I’m surprised Beebee doesn’t knock it over twice a week,” Shock replies as they make their way back up the stairs.

Rey’s planned retort is interrupted when Shock’s stomach grumbles loudly, and she turns toward her friend with a broad smile. Not that there’s no ulterior motive. Shock’s always willing to spill details when she’s eating something carbtastic and delicious after practice. It is known.

“You hungry? I was going to make some more grilled cheese.”

The offering of a burnt grilled cheese sandwich doesn’t work any kind of magic on her friend, and Shock shakes her head politely. “Nah. Let’s order noodles from the Thai place.”

Alright. Rey can admit this is a better idea than a second round of grilled cheese. Shock’s such a goddamn genius. Rey will always tackle and embrace any excuse to scarf massive piles of pad woon sen, and she squeals excitedly, “Oh, yes! Hot noods!”

“Send noods!” Shock yells enthusiastically, dancing her way down the hall to the bathroom.

+++

Rey orders the food while Shock showers, taking time to flip through her notebook, scribble down more thoughts about her robotics project, and re-apply a fresh ice pack to her knee while she lounges. Less puffy, but now purple. Ugh.

When Shock emerges, she groans at the roar of sore muscles from the prior night’s derby bout as she hunkers onto the couch next to Rey with a beer in hand.

Rey bounces closer, perching her chin on Shock’s shoulder, brimming with sweetly cheerful determination to finally get some answers out of her friend.

“Shock, I really need to know. Who hoovered the hickey onto your neck?” Rey asks, waggling her eyebrows. “Was it the new bouncer Poe hired at Resistance? What’s his name? Klaud? He’s got that superhot eurotrash accent.”

“Oh, ew! Not in a million years. Good lord. Um, it was kind of a random hookup. He’s not part of the usual crowd...” she drifts off hesitantly, as if weighing how much she wants to say.

Rey gives her a questioning look. It’s not like Shock to be cagey about anything. If anyone on the planet believes _and_ practices the sentiment that honesty is the best policy, it’s Shock n’ Awe.

“So, who then?”

Shock sips her beer, nodding blandly, and looking at the little spider plant Rey is trying to coax back to life after finding it on a neighbor’s curb for garbage pick-up last week.

Rey smells the scent of a woman trying to hide something. She gives Shock a helpful nudge, just to let her know she’s never, ever getting off the hook. Five hundred years pass before Shock bites her lip and she gives Rey a sly look.

“That guy Lawyer Ben brought to the bout. Armie Hux.”

Well, that’s a string of words beyond comprehension. Rey tilts her head like a confused pup.

“Excuse me, say again?”

“Hux. Tall guy. Red hair. Looks like he just smelled your wrist guards?” Shock clarifies, starting to smile smugly.

Rey’s mind trips over the reveal, stumbles a few feet, then face plants. Shock. Shagged. Hux.

“Shock! How did you go from meeting him at the bout to exchanging DNA samples?”

“Oh, stop clutching your pearls, you little hypocrite,” Shock retorts, smacking her arm sharply. “He turned up at the after party and bought me a drink while peppering me with questions about roller derby. You know, he’s kind of funny in a neurotic, high-strung kind of way. So I bought him a shot of Jameson. And then he bought me a shot of Fireball.”

“I’m guessing it escalated quickly after that.”

“It escalated to me demanding that he compete in the twerk rodeo if he thinks he can keep up with a derby girl. I figured he was too much of a stiff shirt to ever do it. Next thing I know, he’s cutting the line and sitting on Fister and Jacks, giving Poe a thumbs up.”

Rey knows somewhere in Coruscant, Ben Solo is crying sadly because he did not get to see his work friend—rival, enemy, buddy, whoever--attempt the rodeo.

“How long did he last?”

“Not long,” Shock snorts. “He was alright the first few seconds, but then he started hamming and waving to the crowd the moment he thought they wouldn’t be able to knock him off. He’s tall, so I imagine he thought he had size on his side.”

Rey supposes that after a few drinks, it’s entirely conceivable that Hux didn’t notice that Fister is a glamazon and Jacks is built like a brick house. After three years of getting hulk-smashed by them during practice drills, it’s something she’s not likely to forget.

“And then?”

“They bucked him off. I’ve never heard anyone hit the stage that hard before. I thought he must have broken something, because he just sprawled there, groaning in agony, as if he couldn’t possibly move. So, I ran over to check him out, and the fucker actually laughed and kissed me!”

Bold move for a pasty ginger.

Rey bites her lip to keep from laughing, amused at how pink-faced Shock is getting while telling the story. She doesn’t seem particularly outraged, judging from the way she’s grinning. In fact, she looks like a cat licking cream from its whiskers.

“You liked it! Admit it! How was the kiss?”

Shock lifts her nose haughtily. “Shockingly good. And when I scraped him off the stage, he said he owed me for saving his life.”

“How hard did Fister and Jacks throw him?”

“It was violent as fuck. A few people screamed. I know I did. Poe had to fire up the karaoke machine because no one wanted to rodeo after that.”

“And then? You left with Hux? And?”

“We grabbed burgers and went back to his place. Super luxe, by the by. I know he has low-key murder basement vibes at first glance, but his place was really—”

“DO NOT even try to go off topic with your assessment of his interior decorating, ROSE TICO.”

Shock’s eyes widen, and her mouth makes a little O of surprise at Rey’s thunderous tone.

“I stayed the night at his place. The sheer suction-power of his mouth…” she muses, shaking her head before breaking out of her reverie. “Anyway. We ‘shagged’ as you like to say, babydoll. Sideways, frontways, and upside down. And because we are adults, we’ve exchanged phone numbers, and names, and we’ve even made plans to see one another again.”

Huh. All in one night? Where’s the fun in _that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, how about that chapter count update? I'm sure you're all shocked.
> 
> About roller derby leagues and charity: Many derby leagues file as 501c3 non-profit organizations. This means that in exchange for certain tax benefits, they donate a certain percentage of all ticket and merch sales to a charitable organization. Coruscant Roller Derby gives to a local homeless shelter. 
> 
> And just to be clear, non-profit really means non-profit. No one's making any money off roller derby, with very few exceptions.
> 
> Can we just get a slow clap for Ben Solo eating the chargrilled cheese sandwich so lovingly made by his feral skate gremlin? 
> 
> [JunkyardJediTrash on Twitter](https://twitter.com/junkyard_jedi)
> 
> [Fireball, Bojangles, and Hot Derby Nights - Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1GpMHL9x5rMW6F1axv0jt6)

**Author's Note:**

> "I thought roller derby after parties were a myth!"
> 
> "I used to wonder that myself. Thought it was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo-magical drunk girls screaming about karaoke, greasy food, fireball shots, and twerking. Crazy thing is, it's true. Roller derby, the after parties, all of it. It's all true."


End file.
